The Art of Eventually
by Neverbird
Summary: Six years have passed since the end of the war, and Harry and Draco find themselves returning to Hogwarts as professors. Hogwarts students are ruled by hormones, but the teenagers aren't the only ones harboring secret crushes. And they aren't the only ones snogging in the corridors. Harry/Draco. Ron/Hermione.
1. August

Okay. Wow. Here we go. I have been working on this story for such a long time. You guys have no idea. This has been such a solitary project, and posting it online is making my stomach flutter. I really hope you like it.

This story begins about six years after the end of the war. Forget about the epilogue (though you'll see I borrowed from it and played with it a bit).

Credit for all of this goes to J.K. Rowling. I can't even begin to describe how much her work means to me.

One more thing: In the past, I've been notoriously slow at updating. To make it up to you, I want you to know that I will be rolling out new chapters weekly. How could I possibly promise that? Because this thing is sitting on my hard drive, totally complete. Whoa. And it's really freaking long. Stick with me, though, because there will be SO much snogging and a very happy ending (but you knew that).

Rated M for implied sex in later chapters. And now I'm blushing. Without further ado:

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_By Neverbird_

-August-

* * *

"Hermione, are you busy?"

"Just unpacking the mugs," she called back, silently scourgifying a pair of ceramic ones they had gotten for Christmas last year from her parents. She levitated them into their place in the cupboard.

"Can they wait?"

Hermione paused, returning a mug to its wrapping and placing it back in the box. "I'm coming now. Is everything all right?"

She found Ron in the front hall by the door, flushed and strangely buoyant. "If I ask you to do something right now, will you do it without asking why?"

"Okay, but –"

"Hermione!" He gave her hand a tug. "Just follow me, okay?"

"Fine," she murmured, already falling behind as he bounded out the door to their new flat, down the lift, and out the front. He fiddled nervously with his hands as he walked, clenching and unclenching his fists and slipping his hand in and out of the pocket of his jeans.

"Where are you taking us?" she asked, not expecting an answer. This jittery energy and aura of great mystery – none of this was like Ron. And yet – perhaps. But perhaps not yet. Her heart began to pound, and she pushed away the thought. Better not to invite disappointment.

The hand kept returning to the pocket, though. It was difficult not to wonder.

Ron led her briskly through the winding streets of Hogsmeade and into Honeydukes, straight down to the cellar without pausing to eye the merchandise. Then they were in the tunnel, and it became clear that they were making their way toward a place they both knew well.

"Hogwarts? I suppose it isn't worth mentioning that there's no school in August. Not to mention we graduated five years ago." Trying to keep pace with Ron's long-legged stride was making her nearly breathless. She caught a flash of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

"Time to put this on, I reckon," he declared, and Hermione wondered how she had failed to notice that Ron had been carrying Harry's invisibility cloak. He draped it over and around them, concealing everything above their ankles.

"Hope we don't run into any teachers," Hermione whispered.

"Big trouble," Ron agreed quietly, tugging on one of her curls, "I hear Professor Potter's really strict."

"He's not Professor Potter for another two weeks," Hermione reminded him, "And talking of Harry, does he know you have his cloak?"

"Oh, he knows," Ron said, as they emerged from the One Eyed Witch statue and turned sharply down the south corridor.

It was such a silly thing to hope for, and Hermione felt slightly abashed when she considered the lively churning feeling in her stomach and the hammering in her chest. Silly, but it meant something to her.

She felt, with thrilling certainty, that he was going to lead her to the Room of Requirement, where they had shared their first kiss.

But then, Ron put his hand on the small of her back, spun her around, and guided her in the opposite direction.

"Close your eyes," he said, after a moment, his voice jumping. Hermione felt herself being led through a doorway. "Now sit here. Okay. And… open them." Ron gathered up the cloak and tucked it away.

Hermione's eyes slid open, and she found herself seated on a porcelain throne. "The girls' toilets?" she asked. She blinked, laughing nervously. Ron's fingers trembled, and a blotchy flush had crept up past the collar of his shirt and onto his neck. And yet he was beaming.

"Hermione," he began. He cleared his throat. "Hermione," he repeated. "This is the bathroom where," he inhaled deeply, "Twelve years ago, you and I… and Harry…and a troll. "

"I know," Hermione nodded, laughing softly, and trying not to cry.

"Hermione, I love you." He was shaking. "I feel like I've loved you my whole life. I can't even tell you –" He paused. "So I'm just going to – okay. So." From his back pocket, he produced his wand, which he, quite mysteriously, tapped four times on the pipes.

From out of the toilet stalls emerged a quartet of house elves in tight cotton shirts; they stood before Hermione, holding hands. Each elf's shirt depicted a different word, and together they spelled, "YOU WILL MARRY ME."

"Oh, bollocks," muttered Ron, coaxing the first two elves to switch positions. "It's not a command, I swear. It's a question. See?" Kneeling, he unfurled his fist to show her. On the palm of his hand, he had drawn a question mark. And resting in the middle was a ring with a small, perfect diamond solitaire.

Hermione burst into tears.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Dear Mum,

This is it, Mum, the letter you've been quite explicitly asking me to send you for the last three years. Go fetch Dad and then you two sit down, okay? Are you ready?

Here it is, straight from the dragon's mouth: I've asked Hermione to marry me, and she's accepted. Only I've just now realized that she never actually said "yes" or any other proper English words – but she did the whole weeping and flinging her arms around me, and she's wearing the ring I gave her, so I reckon it's safe to assume that all is well. You may rest assured that that proposal took place in the most romantic and idyllic of settings, and that I was eloquent as always. And so now it looks as though you have another wedding to plan, Mum!

Anyway, you are the first to know, except I reckon Hermione's parents are truly the first, seeing as she's on the phone telling them right now.

That's right, Dad – on the telephone. We have a telephone in the new flat, and a computer, and you may play with them both to your heart's content next time you visit.

Not much else to report. We're not entirely unpacked, seeing as I went and proposed in the middle of everything, and now we're too excited to work. Harry seems to be settling in okay as well, and we're having him round for supper tonight to tell him the news (somehow, I don't think he'll be shocked).

Please send my love to Ginny and everyone, and feel free to let the news spread as contagiously as you please.

With love,

Ron

_To Our Lovely Daughter Hermione,_

_It feels odd to welcome you into the family when I feel as though you've been a part of our family for years and years, but here we are. Oh, you can't imagine how delighted Arthur and I were to receive the news! Now, I certainly don't want to step on your mum's toes, but if there's anything I can help with, do let me know. Hermione, Arthur and I love you so very much, and we can't thank you enough for how happy you've made Ron all these years. We've been waiting for this day for so long._

_All our love,_

_Molly (and Arthur)_

_P.S. And best of luck on your big project. I've been hearing about it from both Ron and Bill, and it sounds truly thrilling. How amazing to be a part of history once again (and so thankfully without danger this time)! We can't wait to hear all about it._

Ron and Hermione,

You cannot imagine the scene set into motion here by the arrival of your owl. Honestly, you have made Mum's year (and I am truly grateful, since she completely forgot about us spending the day pulling garden gnomes).

But anyway, blimey, guys, congratulations! I am so, so excited for you, and I can't believe it's finally happening. Hermione, you are the sister I have always wanted, no offense to Fleur and Audrey. Please, please let me know if you need any help with wedding planning. I am ready and willing to help with anything, and I happen to have plenty of free time at the moment.

No news to report on my end, really. Percy and his lot have been here for almost a week now, and Little Molly's nighttime antics are driving me mental. I admit I looked upon her quite disdainfully yesterday and asked her if she was born yesterday, which I suppose she basically was. I just wish she would quiet down so Aunt Ginny can finally get some sleep. Is it terrible of me to favor Victoire? I just so appreciate that she speaks in proper English and doesn't cry. And talking of crying, Mum is STILL going. Well done, Ron!

Anyway, much love to both of you, and warmest congratulations from the bottom of my sleepy heart.

Ginny

_DOES MY EAR DECEIVE ME?_

_I heard the big news from mum, who hasn't stopped crying joyful tears for five hours straight, from what I gather. So – congratulations, best wishes, when's the date, etc. No really, bro, I'm truly happy for you, and my only regret is that we didn't realize what a catch Hermione was in time to tempt her away from you (ah, we were unstoppable in our day)._

_In other news, how would you and your lovely bride feel about having a strapping young holey-man spend a night or two on your sofa next weekend? I have a business venture I'd like to discuss with you, if you please._

_With fondest regards to you and the Mrs.,_

_George_

Dearest Hermione,

Felicitations to you, the newest Mme. Weasley! We are very excited, certainly, for the wedding, and I will be interested to know which dress designers you are considering. If you should be in need of any ideas whatsoever, I am hoping you will not hesitate to ask. And we should celebrate soon with dinner, oui? Until the new term starts, we are quite available.

I am so very grateful to you, you know, for asking Bill to join you on your endeavor. It is an adventure that he can have here in Hogsmeade. It means so much to the children to have their papa here all the time.

Bien à toi, Hermione!

FDW

* * *

It wasn't that he was surprised. Harry knew perfectly well that it was going to happen, both in the sense that it was bound to happen eventually and in the sense that Ron was rubbish at keeping secrets. Nonetheless, leaving Ron and Hermione's flat, he couldn't help but feel – something. It was a mix of feelings: a rush of affection for his best friends, a sort of vicarious thrill – but it was laced with something heavy. It was hard for him to make sense of this vague sense of gloom, and he didn't try.

It was warm enough to go forgo a jacket, and the sky was a silky deep blue. Ron and Hermione's flat was about ten blocks away, on the other side of the shops, but it was the sort of night that Harry couldn't bear to waste by apparating.

It had been a lovely evening, entirely, and that was all. Ron had overcooked the chicken, but they had dined quite satisfactorily on pancakes and puddings. Hermione was shy about her ring. She seemed reluctant to make a fuss over it, but her eyes were periodically drawn to her own left hand, where it gleamed conspicuously. They were radiantly happy to the point of awkwardness, rather like a pair of school sweethearts in the afterglow of their first snog.

It was clear that Ron had done a bang up job; Harry had to admit that the bit with the house elves was an inspired touch, especially since Ron had managed to free the lot of them in the process ("To be honest?" he had admitted, when Hermione had gone to the toilet, "Didn't even occur to me that I had given them clothes until she went on about it that evening – no need to mention that to her, though, right?").

Harry's flat was in a cluster of buildings known informally as "Little Hogwarts," so named because it housed so many of the single Hogwarts professors. There were a solid six of them this year, judging from the number of Hogwarts owls Harry observed this morning over breakfast. They had arrived in a flock and dispersed upon reaching the central courtyard, each owl presenting itself at a different window to impart scrolls of scheduling information for the new term. Among the recipients, in fact, was Neville Longbottom, who evidently lived in the flat four doors down, and had done for the past five years.

It had never occurred to Harry during his years as a student that the professors might spend part of their lives outside the gates of Hogwarts. In fact, he still rather believed that _his_ professors slept in their offices, socializing exclusively with each other and speaking only of their specialty subjects.

Returning to Hogwarts stirred up odd feelings in Harry; and returning to Hogwarts as a teacher, rather than a student, was almost incomprehensible. Becoming an auror had seemed quite natural in comparison. He had leapt from Hogwarts into the workforce without trepidation.

Now, he found himself feeling, honestly – old. Was that simply part and parcel of being a Hogwarts professor? Was it because his best mates were getting married?

Married. And eventually there would be babies. It could have been him on this path, supposing he and Ginny had stayed together. Was that what he wanted?

Harry let himself into his flat and flipped on the lights. There were boxes, half unpacked, resting on every surface and across the floor. Yawning, he cleared a place on his sofa, and then collapsed gratefully into its cushions.

* * *

"Not bad, Ronnie, I have to say. I reckon this is the sort of flat a man can come home to."

"I do," Ron pointed out.

"You're just in time for dinner," said Hermione, greeting George with a hug.

"Top of her class at Oxford, starting a bleeding school, AND she cooks? What can I say, Ron?"

"Well, your mum owled it over this afternoon," Hermione admitted, "I just heated it up. It's beef Wellington. She knew you were coming."

"Mum," agreed George, fondly.

George and Hermione had their bit of supper, but it was Ron who approached his mountain of beef with the stamina of an Olympic athlete. Afterward, he was reduced to lying prone on the sofa, while Hermione settled in on the floor near his buried head; George, glass of wine in hand, occupied the chair by the telly.

"Already unpacked and settled in," he observed. "Looks like you've lived here forever."

"Mpphh," groaned Ron into the sofa cushions.

"Next time, I expect you'll stop after one or two platefuls," Hermione predicted cheerfully.

George sipped his drink. "Food coma notwithstanding, I reckon it's as good a time as ever to talk business."

A muffled grunt of interest came from the couch.

"So. As you've probably heard from Mum, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes has had two years of steady and quite remarkable growth."

"That's fantastic, George."

"Why thank you, Hermione, it is. So fantastic that I've decided to buy out Zonko's here in Hogsmeade. To strike while the iron is wet, so say the Muggles."

"Almost," Hermione said.

"But seeing as there's only one of me," George said, a bit softly and with an odd, tight-lipped smile, "I'll need someone to run the damn thing. And who better, really, than my own baby brother?"

Ron, with effort, lifted his head enough to meet his brother's eyes. "Me?" There was an imprint from the sofa cushion creasing his cheek.

"No, Ginny's getting a sex change," George replied. "Yes, you."

"I've never run a shop before."

"Neither had we when we started the place - just a couple of Hogwarts drop-outs with a dream."

Hermione looked over her shoulder at Ron, and then back at George.

"Just imagine," George continued, gesturing grandly with his free hand. "A castle full of professors, ripe to be pranked. Imagine a store designed with one glorious purpose: to place the newest, most innovative tools of trickery into the masterful hands of Hogwarts' finest."

"Yeah, sounds like Zonkos."

"Imagine Zonkos, only more mind-blowingly awesome."

Ron, rolling onto his side, looked at George. "Are you serious? You think I could run the store?" His cheeks flushed slightly. "Mum didn't put you up to this, did she?"

"Merlin, Ron, if this isn't for you, you don't have to do it."

"I didn't say I didn't want to do it!" He said quickly; he then executed an awkward maneuver that started from a fetal position, and then by some miracle of limbs, finished in a reasonably dignified seated posture. Hermione grinned.

"What does it pay?" Ron asked.

George raised his eyebrows. "More than you made working for Dad at the Ministry." There was a brief spell of silence, as Ron considered this.

"Well, anyway," George said, finally, "Zonko's is on board, so we're ready to move forward. Do you want the night to mull it over?"

"I'll do it," Ron said immediately, and then paused to add, gallantly, "As long as my fiancée approves."

"She approves," Hermione assured him. She sighed quietly with happiness. Fiancée.

* * *

One of the most impressive features of the Comet Centurium, of course, is its ability to adjust to the slightest shifts in humidity and atmospheric pressure. I had every expectation that it would glide over the lake with unparalleled grace, and I wasn't mistaken - though the trip from my flat to Hogwarts was hardly long enough to appreciate it. Of course, the Centurium wouldn't be on the market until Christmas, but my father had a connection, and had managed to get one in time for my birthday.

I dismounted and leaned against the stone walls of the Entrance Courtyard, waiting. I was the first to arrive. I felt rather like first-year, waiting for entry, and unsure of what to expect. It was natural enough, I supposed, that McGonagall would want to meet with the new professors for an orientation. I hadn't the slightest clue who the other new teachers would be.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. There had been rumors.

I was still a few minutes early. It was curious how my anticipation grew as the time stretched forward.

The great oak doors opened at last, revealing the silhouette of a witch in traditional clothing and a hat. Stepping forward out of the shadows, she revealed herself to be McGonagall.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, with a slight nod of her head. She looked quite the same as she had during my school days. I shook her hand, and made every effort not to feel intimidated.

There was a heavy blast of air behind me, followed by the soft thud of landing feet. The hair on my neck stiffened, and there was a nervous twinge in my stomach.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. That's all of us, then."

I was quite aware that it was the first time Potter and I had laid eyes on each other in the five years since graduation. I perceived him looking at me with surprise. I wondered if I looked different to him.

McGonagall led us through the doors, and they swung shut heavily behind us. "Welcome back, gentlemen. I trust that nothing has changed too dramatically since you've been gone."

Nothing had, including the forcefulness of McGonagall's presence. It made me feel, as always, like I wasn't standing straight enough.

Potter looked quite the same as he always had, though perhaps his shoulders had broadened slightly. His hair was slightly unkempt and he still wore round spectacles. Behind them, his eyes were as startling as ever. He wore a dark blue collared shirt and trousers.

We followed McGonagall to the seventh floor, past the stone gargoyle, and up the spiral steps to her office. The curved walls were covered with portraits of former headmasters, many of whom watched with apparent interest as Potter and I claimed the pair of chairs facing McGonagall's desk. I noticed Potter's eyes linger on the portrait of Dumbledore, who smiled broadly at our arrival. Inside the frame directly to his right, Severus Snape caught my eye and nodded politely.

Potter shuffled his foot against the leg of the chair, waiting for McGonagall to begin the orientation. We might have been first years called to the Headmistress's office for dueling.

"Professors Potter and Malfoy, we are truly delighted that you will be joining the faculty this year. As you know, term commences on the first. We shall begin, as always, with the Sorting Ceremony and a feast in the Great Hall. Classes will begin the following Monday."

There was a large window behind McGonagall's desk, through which the Quidditch pitch was on full display. More than once, I observed Potter's eyes drifting wistfully in its direction.

"As both of your subjects are part of the core curriculum, you will each be teaching classes of first years, all the way up through N.E.W.T. level students. And I'm afraid I must warn you that we have two classes of sixth-years this year.

"Sorry," Potter seemed startled. "But how is that possible?"

McGonagall smiled patiently. I'm sure you recall that, six years ago, we had a year of considerable distraction and, shall I say, nontraditional curriculum. The two of you, along with several of your classmates, returned in the fall to complete your seventh year of schooling. Though some of your classmates attended school during that tumultuous year, many of them elected to repeat their final academic year under circumstances that were more conducive to learning. This was the case for the younger students as well – those who were in their sixth year before the war repeated their sixth year after the war, and so on."

"Yes, of course," Potter said, nodding slowly.

"You may also remember that, at the time, we had two first year classes – a group of twelve-year-olds who were completing their first year over again, and our new group of eleven-year-olds who had just received their letters. These students are now in their sixth year."

"So they've just taken their O.W.L.'s," I pointed out. "Will there be many of them continuing to N.E.W.T. level classes?"

McGonagall nodded. "When we corresponded over the summer, you both mentioned that you would be willing to take on students who had achieved a score of E or higher."

Potter and I glanced briefly at each other.

"Seventeen sixth-years will be advancing to N.E.W.T. level Potions. At the moment, both classes of sixth-years have been combined into one, though you may choose to change that. You have ten seventh-years in the advanced N.E.W.T. level course."

She turned to Potter. "In Defense Against the Dark Arts, I'm afraid there are twenty-six sixth-years moving on to N.E.W.T. level, sixteen of whom are in that older group of the two classes. There are also fifteen seventh-years."

"So many," murmured Potter.

"Yes, a surprising amount. But then, these are the children of the war; they began their schooling under the shadow of Voldemort. You'll find them to be an interesting group of students. Like Mr. Malfoy, you may consider dividing the sixth-years into two classes. It's important to remember that many of them will be coming of age this year. And, of course, it follows that most of the current seventh years are already of age."

McGonagall clasped her hands together. "Other than your N.E.W.T. courses, which will include students from all four houses, the Gryffindors will combine with the Slytherins, and the Hufflepuffs with the Ravenclaws for all lessons. I trust that you received your specific schedules by owl last week?"

We both nodded.

"And of course, since you've both elected to live outside of Hogwarts' grounds, there's the issue of overnight duty. We require each professor to stay overnight at the castle once a week to make themselves available to students after hours. There will be a sign up sheet next to the gargoyle on the first day of term to establish the schedule. I shall leave you to work out the details with your colleagues. I should note, however, that you will be provided with a comfortable bedroom adjacent to your offices for your nights on duty."

"Was this how it was always done, or did the professors live here all the time when we were in school?" asked Potter.

McGonagall smiled enigmatically. "I suppose you will have to ask them directly – though in my case, that shall remain a mystery," she said. Potter raised his eyebrows.

"Should any questions arise, I hope you will feel comfortable coming to me or your other colleagues. I expect you will find Professor Longbottom and Madame Weasley to be particularly helpful."

"Not Ginny…" Potter said, looking startled.

McGonagall regarded him kindly. "I was referring, of course, to Fleur Weasley, who has risen beautifully to the challenge of filling my former post as professor of Transfiguration."

"Right," muttered Potter, blushing.

"And unless you have any further questions for me this afternoon, you are free to enjoy your last week of freedom before the new term."

Shutting the door behind us, we descended the spiral stairs together, and walked in perfect silence to the Courtyard. Taking our brooms in hand, we looked at each other at last.

"Well," he broke the silence, seeming unsure of what to say, "We're both teachers now." Somehow, the way he said it made all of the other things we once were hang in the air.

"Do you live in Hogsmeade?" I asked.

"Right across the lake, in the close circle of flats," he replied.

"Little Hogwarts," I said. "Me too."

"Neville Longbottom's there, too," he pointed out. He seemed nervous, which was reassuring. "And Ron and Hermione live just across town. They got engaged a week ago."

"Give them my best wishes," I said, hearing my voice sound stilted and awkward.

He was almost my height exactly, maybe an inch shorter. It was impossible to guess what he was thinking. My breath hitched. I couldn't explain it.

Really, we hadn't stood this close to each other since that peculiar moment on the morning of our graduation.

"Anyway," he said, mounting his broom, "I reckon I'll see you in a week, unless I see you around the flats."

"Good to see you again, Potter," I said.

He looked startled. "Yeah, you too," he murmured, before launching into the clear blue sky.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Ron,

Sorry I haven't written sooner. Mum wrote me with the news, but post is terrible out here, and I just got her owl. But better late than never, I suppose, so congratulations to both of you! She's lovely, of course, superb choice. And another Weasley bites the dust, I reckon, leaving only George and myself as the last bachelors standing. Well, and Ginny, but I say it's only a matter of time until she and Harry reunite and live happily ever after. I keep telling her to stop moping around the Burrow and move to Hogsmeade, for the love of Merlin.

Anyway, Argentina is nice, and the steaks are excellent (confirmed by Bill himself when he brought Fleur and the kids down last month). I'm enclosing a picture of what we have reason to believe is a previously undiscovered breed of dragon. Thought you'd like that. Anyway, go ahead and congratulate Hermione again for me, and let her know I'm looking forward to seeing you soon, hopefully. Christmas, or will you be with the Muggles again this year?

Keep in touch, buddy,

Charlie

* * *

*DELETED SCENE*

"And finally," McGonagall concluded, "In addition to your regular responsibilities, you will be expected to leave an epic review to every chapter of this story. The author has noted a preference for reviews that are wildly flattering, but she will happily accept any and all types of commentary and constructive criticism."

You and Harry exchanged apprehensive glances. Already, you were wondering what you had gotten yourselves into. Once thing was certain: they weren't paying you enough for this.


	2. September

Such a good feeling to be updating ahead of schedule, probably for the first time ever. Thank you so much to all who took the time to read this (and especially those who reviewed - you guys made me so happy)! Next installment is super long, so get comfy.

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_By Neverbird_

September

* * *

Barely a hello, and Fleur was off. "Of course you 'ave set ze date, yes?" And before Hermione could finish the word, "June"-

"And 'ave you been collecting many pictures of gorgeous dresses to carry with you to ze boutiques?"

"Um, I-"

"And our Victoire is so vairy excited to be ze, how do you say, flower girl."

"Great!"

"And 'ave you chosen ze flowers?"

Hermione shook her head, rubbing her neck nervously. "I didn't think… we've only been engaged for a couple of days."

"Hermione, you must leap into ze planning! June, you say? June, it will arrive before you know it!"

Hermione felt that she had been baptized in a pool of estrogen.

"But it's almost ten months from now. What could possibly take so long?"

"Oh my, you will soon see," Fleur imparted, voice brimming with laugher.

Bill swept in to rescue her. "Let's not overwhelm her, don't you think, dear? Why don't you go see if the girls are up?"

"Oh, Bill," replied Fleur, kissing his scarred cheek. With a toss of her silvery hair, she made her exit.

"June, huh," remarked Bill.

"Yep," agreed Ron.

"Doing it at the Burrow?"

Hermione glanced at Ron. "Actually," she said, "We were thinking about doing it here in Hogsmeade, on the university grounds. All that space. We could set up a tent."

"Oh, nice," Bill said, bending and extending his arms automatically to catch the moon-haired little girl who had just catapulted toward him. "Hello, love," he greeted, lifting her up easily. She nestled her head into his shoulder, hands clasped behind his neck.

"Victoire, I hope you will remember your manners," prompted Fleur, following behind her with the baby in her arms.

Victoire lifted her head slightly to peek out at Ron and Hermione, before pulling a grumpy face and burying it again in her father's shirt.

"Don't mind Mademoiselle Cranky-pants," Bill said, kissing her head. "Just had her nap. She'll be back to normal in a tick."

Ron and Hermione smiled indulgently. Fleur walked over to them, bouncing wide-eyed baby Dominique. She giggled and reached her hand toward Bill when she saw him.

"Ron and Hermione have decided to get married on the grounds of the university."

"Well. I don't know about zat," Fleur started, but Bill cut her off.

"I think it's great. We've got to do the enchantments anyway. I'll get started early, so the space will be all hidden in time for the big day."

"Hidden from who?" asked Ron. Victoire squirmed suddenly, and Bill gently set her down on the ground. She crouched atop his shoes, looking up at everyone with curiosity.

"Well, Muggles, obviously."

"But we can't hide the wedding from Muggles," Hermione said, frowning. "My family are Muggles."

"We're not Muggles," interjected Victoire, importantly.

"That's right," Fleur replied. "Now come, ma petite, mama needs your help putting Niquie in her chair. Supper is almost ready."

"But I want to stay with Uncle Ron and Hermione."

"That's my girl," remarked Ron, giving her a high five. Victoire grinned.

* * *

It was startling to see that the students of Hogwarts were children, even the oldest among them. Pink-cheeked and cowlicked, they bumped and jostled, laughed and flirted. They glanced guiltily in our direction, once and again. We, the teachers. It was now my place to observe these proceedings with detached scholastic amusement, or, if necessary, with a humorless frown.

I sat between Flitwick and Fleur Weasley. There was a conspicuous lack of Potter; the empty seat between Flitwick and Longbottom seemed to shout his absence. McGonagall stood to speak.

Moments later, I knew he had arrived before I turned to see him. Rubeus Hagrid happened to be in my direct line of vision, and he lit up like a firecracker. Potter entered quietly through the rear, and labored to shuffle unobtrusively behind the row of teachers to the empty seat next to Longbottom.

But Harry Potter was not destined for a discreet entrance.

I watched in amazement. An electric hush descended upon the Great Hall, and then, table by table, the students rose to their feet in a storm of applause. We stood as well; McGonagall, poised to speak, merely smiled.

Potter was, and always has been, easy to read at close range, and only Flitwick stood between us. He was the very picture of stunned mortification. A wide, empty smile stretched across his burning red face.

He said something to Longbottom under his breath, too quietly for me to hear. Longbottom turned to him and shook his round globe of a head. "I don't know, Harry. I think it's just – you know. They're grateful."

"It was _six years ago_." Potter rubbed his forehead, looking bewildered. A number of the older students raised their goblets, their faces shining with tears.

"You saved their lives," chimed Flitwick, beaming up at him.

"Six years ago. And…not all of them."

"But you did," Longbottom said.

"Do you reckon I'm expected to say something?" Potter asked, miserably. "Oh, thank bloody Merlin, it's dying down."

McGonagall reestablished order, and with a great shuffle of benches, the students returned to their seats. Nonetheless, a current of excited energy soared through the space.

"Good evening to you all. It is my great joy to welcome you to the new term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before we proceed with the Sorting Ceremony, I have the pleasure of introducing the two newest members of the Hogwarts faculty. Professor Harry Potter in the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts," McGonagall said, nodding toward Potter. She paused to allow the new bloom of whispers to fade.

And then she introduced me, inspiring vacant, glazed stares and a quiet revival of jostling and flirtation among the pubescent masses. I was, evidently, no celebrity.

But Potter and Longbottom turned to me at that moment, and there was an exchange of friendly nods that felt like a sweet punch to my stomach.

* * *

"So, we won't want to tarry getting our names on that list," Neville advised. "I'd just as well not end up with Saturdays again."

"Right," Harry nodded soberly, "Let's go."

Of course, they weren't actually going anywhere until the stampede of students thinned out. Harry made the mistake of smiling blandly at the packs of first-years trailing behind their prefects, sparking a mass collision of tiny, gaping people who were evidently more interested in ogling their celebrity professor than watching where they walked.

"This is your doing, Potter?" intoned Malfoy, coming up beside them and surveying the chaos. Neville gave a tentative smile.

Harry shrugged helplessly, feeling himself blush. The traffic now mainly consisted of clusters of teenagers, maybe fourth- or fifth-years, craning their necks to catch glimpses of Harry as they passed. A few of the girls rounded back again to have another walk-by.

"Once it dies down, we're heading to the gargoyle to sign up for our overnights," Neville mentioned, glancing at Malfoy. "Have you done yours yet?"

"No, not yet." Malfoy replied, frowning thoughtfully. "Should I?"

"Yes, definitely. Why don't you come with us?" Neville offered, kindly. "Or I can put your name down, if you have somewhere else to be."

Malfoy looked up at him. "I'll come with you," he said, nodding at Neville and glancing briefly at Harry. The pale skin on his neck was touched with the slightest tinge of pink.

The crowd of students abated, and even though Harry and Malfoy knew perfectly well where to find the gargoyle, they followed Neville there.

"One slot left on Tuesdays," remarked Neville when they arrived, looking a bit dismayed at the dearth of options. "Mind if I take it? My N.E.W.T. classes meet Tuesday afternoons, and I usually try to plan my overnights so I'm available in case their seeds don't take."

"Fine by me," Harry replied agreeably, "Reckon I'll take Thursdays." Neville lent him his quill, and Harry scrawled, "H. Potter," in the appropriate spot.

"Want company, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, casually, writing his name beneath Harry's in the Thursday column without waiting for a response.

Harry blinked and pushed up his spectacles. "Yeah, okay."

* * *

As it happened, the Slytherin and Gryffindor third-years were Harry's first class of the term. Stepping into the familiar classroom after breakfast, he thought he was fine, but the minutes spent waiting for the students to arrive transformed Harry into a fidgety mess. He found himself straightening and re-straightening the stack of spellbooks on his desk – he, Harry, who had never in his life noticed or cared whether a stack of books was straight. Chances were that his incoming lot of spot-faced, snog-ripe thirteen-year-olds weren't going to notice either, but what could you do?

He wrote his name, "Harry Potter," on the chalkboard. Then, considering it for a moment, he added the word "Professor" to the front of it.

The first student to arrive was a Gryffindor girl with large brown eyes and dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. "Hello there," he greeted her, in a professorly tone. It felt like a performance and made him cringe inwardly, but he wasn't sure if there was anything to be done about it. "I'm Professor Potter," he informed her, surely unnecessarily, "And you are?"

The girl blushed, staring at his forehead. "Maisie Cattermole," she replied, after a moment.

"Cattermole," murmured Harry, trying to place the name.

Two Gryffindor boys entered, taking the pair of seats behind Maisie, followed closely by a trio of Slytherin girls. They continued to wander in, coming in clusters, until every seat was occupied. Harry stood silently for a moment, absently biting his lower lip and feeling awkward in his own skin. The students chattered happily across the aisles, posing and posturing self-consciously in moves designed to impress whomever they fancied: the patented Leaning Back on My Elbows to Display My Budding Breasts, the Casual Head Toss to Shake My Impossibly Long Fringe Out of My Eyes.

Harry's own longing and desperation hadn't been so clearly and heartbreakingly obvious at the age of thirteen, had it?

He squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath. "Welcome, third years, to Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm Professor Potter -"

"Can I have your autograph?" piped an irreverent voice from the back. The whole class laughed merrily, and the freckled Gryffindor boy who had made the comment looked delighted with himself.

"Sure, shall I write it out to your mum?" Harry replied slyly. Twelve years of being best mates with Ron Weasley, and taking the piss came automatically. The class fell silent for a beat, before erupting with laughter.

"It's for my girlfriend!" the freckled boy protested, laughing good-naturedly.

Harry raised his eyebrows and grinned, and with that gesture, the class fell in love with him and with Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Harry could recognize it, because he had felt it himself in a precious few classes, including his own third-year Defense class – the sudden, joyful certainty that he was going to love this hour of his week. It was easy winning them over; he was Harry Potter, after all, and they wanted to love him. That he was Harry Potter and also had a sense of humor – well, that was bound to seal the deal with the Gryffindors, wasn't it? The remarkable thing was that it seemed to work on the Slytherins as well.

"All, right, you lot," he said, feeling his body relax at last. "Wands out, please – best to learn by doing, I think. Is anyone familiar with _Protego_, the shield charm?" No one raised their hands, but class smiled expectantly, ready to follow him there.

It was so wonderfully, startlingly easy. He wondered how Malfoy was faring.

* * *

"You are to choose a partner, and that person will be your partner for the remainder of the term," I said, aiming for Snape's silkily nonchalant tone. "Hufflepuffs must pair with Ravenclaws." _To save you from your own incompetence,_ I couldn't help but add silently, though it was an unteacherly thought.

They regarded me uncertainly.

"Now, please," I said, prompting a flurry of sudden movement – chairs scraping against the dungeon floor, cauldrons dragged across the room, and murmured introductions. Then, as quickly as it began, the noise dropped off, and an apprehensive silence prevailed.

They had rearranged themselves into mixed-house pairings, yellow and blue accenting every table. "Very good," I allowed. "Five points each to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff." I expected smiles at this, but received only blank, wide-eyed stares. A Ravenclaw boy with dark skin and eyes nodded solemnly.

It was apparent that the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first-years were terrified of me.

It wasn't a new experience for me, being feared, but it was something I hadn't encountered in years. I used to find it almost exhilarating – I was daunted by nearly everyone when I was younger, so it had been discomfiting, but electrifying, to learn that I, too, had the power to intimidate. But now? I was startled by how deeply I hated it.

I regarded them awkwardly, trying to think of something comforting to say to a room of eleven-year-olds on their first day at Hogwarts. I tried on a smile, feeling acutely self-conscious. A Hufflepuff girl in the front row smiled back at me, tentatively, but the tension in the room endured.

Surely they would relax eventually, wouldn't they? I was beginning to suspect that this would be a long, dismal year.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

**William Weasley**

**Associate Director**

**Albus Dumbledore University Initiative Project**

**Hogsmeade**

**1 September**

Dear **Mr. Weasley**,

The purpose of this letter is to inform you of the decision of Gringotts Bank regarding your request submitted on **15 August**. It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been approved for a business loan of **G: 8,000,000**, with an interest rate of **G:10** per month until the loan has been repaid in its entirety. Gringotts Bank looks forward to partnering with you on your endeavor. Please do not hesitate to contact our Diagon Alley office if you have any questions or concerns.

Sincerely,

Ragnok

Chief Goblin in Charge of Loans and Accounts

Gringotts Bank

Diagon Alley

_Best of luck, Bill. – R_

_Hermione,_

_I'm so honored – I don't know what to say, other than of course! Oh, Hermione, it means so much to me. Please let me know what I can help with. I really mean it. I'm at your service for charm casting, ribbon tying, you name it. As to next weekend and dresses, Mum and I are both in, and it was all I could do to keep my dad from jumping on board as well once he found out we were going to a Muggle shop. Looking forward to meeting your mum, Hermione!_

_Love from your official Maid of Honor (!) and soon-to-be sister,_

_Ginny_

Ickle Ron,

Just a quick note to inform you that your holiday is over. The transaction went swimmingly, and we'll be descending upon what was formerly Zonko's by Friday. Shop is slated to open on Monday, so I hope you're ready. I'll see you on the weekend.

Best,

George

_Hermione,_

_I am SO sorry about this. Oh Merlin. Fleur found out about next weekend (Mum's big freaking mouth). She's insisting on coming, and I haven't been able to talk her out of it yet. I'll play up the Muggle angle and keep trying, but you know how she is about wedding dresses. So, so sorry again!_

_Your faithful but slightly panicked Maid of Honorable Intentions, anyway,_

_Ginny_

* * *

Potter arrived at Hogwarts in time for breakfast on Thursday, drowsy and quiet, with hair unkempt. "Coffee," he croaked in greeting - his speech was holophrastic in the mornings, I was learning. He planted himself beside me on the bench, and didn't say another word until his mug was entirely drained.

"Good morning, then," he said, finally, yawning. I noticed he took his coffee black, like me.

"Morning, Harry," replied Longbottom, who sat across from us. "Sausage?"

"Oh… well, yeah. Thanks, Neville." Longbottom passed him the last one from the platter, which instantly replenished itself.

"They never let you go hungry at Hogwarts, do they?" Potter remarked, fondly. He turned to me. "So, it's our first overnight duty tonight."

I hadn't come close to forgetting.

"Thursday already? Merlin…," Longbottom shook his head. "Who's your first period?"

"Second years, I think?" Potter replied abstractedly, "Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Double period."

"Oh dear," remarked Longbottom, and I laughed appreciatively. I, too, had recently had the pleasure.

"That bad?" Potter asked, grimacing.

"Oh, you know," Longbottom murmured. "They just require a bit," he paused, "Quite a bit of patience," he concluded diplomatically, forkful of eggs in hand.

"If Neville's the one saying that…" Potter swore under his breath.

"Seventh-year N.E.W.T.'s first for me today," I volunteered, smugly. I had learned quickly that I was a bit of a disaster with the first years, but surprisingly well suited with the more advanced students. N.E.W.T. level classes were already the highlights of my week.

"Bully for you," sniffed Potter.

We generally made a point to leave the Great Hall before the students, using the last few minutes of breakfast to prepare for the day. The dungeons were chilly in the mornings – they had always been, of course, but it was something I'd managed to forget since graduation. I had taken to wearing a scarf for first and second period. If my students thought me eccentric, so be it – it rather came with the territory of being a Hogwarts professor.

"Morning, Professor Malfoy." A Hufflepuff girl had arrived first, claiming the center seat in the front row.

"Good morning – Miss Gudgeon, isn't it?" I had taught this class once before, on Monday.

"Right." Meredith Gudgeon blushed deeply. "Um, will we be beginning the energy drought today?"

"I believe we'll get to that," I replied, smiling briefly at her as I lined up a dozen small bottles on my desk. The rest of the class arrived promptly, naturally settling into their established pairs from the previous lesson.

"Quills ready?" I prompted, beginning my lecture. "As you may recollect, today we shall be discussing energy droughts. Those of you who have completed your reading should recall that there are several variations to this particular potion, each of which is appropriate under different circumstances. Can anyone name one of them? Mr. Eldwin?

"The Drought of Aurora."

"Yes, thank you. Five points to Slytherin. Anyone else?"

"Cogitatious Elixir?"

"Miss Cooper, yes. And five to Ravenclaw."

The practical exercise began, and the students summoned ingredients from my desk. I always preferred this part of the lesson, where I could simply rotate among the different student pairs, offering help and support when needed. Small groups were more relaxing for me – when speaking to the whole class, even my N.E.W.T. students, I felt I came across as tense and overly formal. It was funny; large groups hadn't fazed me when I was younger. It was jarring to remember how brash and cocksure I had been, and to perceive the degree to which the war had changed me.

I joined a pair of Hufflepuff girls: Meredith Gudgeon and her partner, Annaliese Smith. "I see you've added the elderberry. Very good." Meredith blushed and nodded, and Annaliese seemed to bite back a smile. "Mind the direction of the stir, Miss Smith."

"Oops!" exclaimed Annaliese, shifting the direction of her rotation at once. I continued my sweep of the classroom.

A pair of Gryffindors were pawing each other discreetly behind a cauldron, oblivious to my approach. I stood above them and cleared my throat; their heads whipped up, startled. The girl blushed, twisting the ends of her blond hair; I recalled that her mother was someone famous. The boy withdrew his hand from her thigh, looking visibly disappointed to be interrupted mid-feel.

"Mr. Chapman, Miss Warbeck, I expect you know that Potions class is not the place."

"Oh, they know," chimed Annaliese Smith, "Professor Potter already put them on snog alert." The class laughed, including the guilty pair of Gryffindors, though Miranda Warbeck hid behind her hands while doing so.

"Snog alert?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Next snog he sees, it's ten points from Gryffindor," Aiden Chapman explained, sighing. "We weren't _snogging_, though," he added firmly.

"Just a quick grope," clarified Daniel White, Aiden's roommate.

They worked steadily for the next hour with little incident, each pair producing a drought that roughly matched the shade of green recommended in the textbook. Upon their dismissal, they were calm and alert, having sampled their finished products. Most of them had Transfiguration next – Madame Weasley would have to thank me.

My final class of the day was an agonizing hour with a large, squeaky lot of Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years. I endured it, and took a moment to tidy the dungeons before dinner.

Potter was already at the table when I arrived; he sat between Hagrid, who lived at Hogwarts, and Professor Vector, who was on duty tonight as well. Longbottom had gone home for the night, I gathered.

"Hi," I greeted, sliding in across from him.

"Hi, Malfoy," he replied, smiling.

My breath hitched, for no reason at all.

Hagrid chuckled. "I 'member a time 'en the pair of yeh could barely look at each other without fighting," he remarked, "Here yeh are, friends an' everythin'."

"We were friends seventh year, weren't we?" Potter protested.

I shrugged noncommittally. We hadn't been friends, really, though we had achieved something of a polite truce after the war. To the best of my recollection, we had mostly avoided each other, apart from one awkward thank you I felt was unavoidable, given that Potter had both saved my life and spoken to the Wizengamot on behalf of my family. That and the morning of graduation.

"So, what do you reckon we're supposed to do now?" Potter asked, as we pushed in our benches after dinner.

"Patrol the halls?" I suggested. "I'm not really sure, other than we're supposed to be in our rooms by curfew so the students can find us."

We set off down the west hall, beginning our patrol. Groups of students scuttled past, headed for the library, Quidditch pitch, and their dormitories.

"Good luck tonight, Martin," said Potter, extending his hand to deliver a high five to a freckled, mischievous looking Gryffindor third-year. "Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts tonight," Potter explained, after Martin had loped off, grinning.

"So I've heard."

"I miss Quidditch," he sighed.

I glanced at him sidelong. "Me, too."

"Good evening, professors," a dark-haired seventh-year in crisp Slytherin robes approached us, clutching a stack of books in one hand, and extending the other to shake. "I understand that you are both on-duty tonight."

Grant Eldwin was his own breed of swot, surpassing Granger and even Percy Weasley.

"As Head Boy, I felt it would be prudent to inform you of my whereabouts, in case you need my assistance. I will be in the library until 9:30, after which I can be found in Slytherin's dormitory," he said importantly.

"Thank you, Mr. Eldwin," I replied. I felt it would be wrong to laugh.

Grant's gaze trailed over my shoulder, and I turned to see Meredith and Annaliese approaching.

"Hello Meredith… good evening, Annaliese," he greeted. His face flushed slightly, and I could actually hear him swallow nervously.

"Hi, Grant, hi Professors," Annaliese replied breezily. "We're off to watch the Gryffindor tryouts." Meredith smiled slightly at me and waved as they passed.

Grant blinked, watching them depart. He then turned to us, nodding curtly. "I feel that I should… as Head Boy…I shall attend the Gryffindor trials and retire to my dormitory promptly thereafter." The color was still in his cheeks as he walked primly in the direction the girls had travelled.

Potter grinned at me. "I didn't realize the Head Boy duties included blocking Anneliese Smith from chatting up Gryffindor Quidditch blokes."

"Ah," I replied, "Perhaps he has her on snog alert." I glanced at Potter, my expression deliberately neutral.

"Huh. Well," Potter looked as though he was pleased with himself, but trying not to seem it. "Say what you will, but it was borne of necessity."

"It's what Hogwarts was missing all these years," I agreed, "The illustrious concept of 'snog alert.'"

"I'm not joking," Harry smiled wryly, "Four bloody days into school. Whatever happened to the days when Hogwarts students kept their fluids to themselves?"

"And when was that?" I replied, "Couldn't be our sixth and seventh years, what with you and the Weasley girl snogging in every corridor."

Potter looked at me strangely, and it struck me immediately that Potter's physical relationship with Ginny Weasley was an odd thing for me to notice, much less comment on. I bit my lip and regarded him carefully.

"Ginny and I did not," he murmured finally, sounding indignant, but looking abashed.

"Did," I replied, shrugging and looking away. I hadn't forgotten what it felt like to enter the wrong stairwell and catch them embracing.

"Never in class, though," he concluded emphatically.

"Never in class," I allowed. Of course, they hadn't taken any classes together, Weasley being a year younger.

* * *

"To a new era of pranks, shenanigans, and Hogwarts teachers not knowing what hit them – sorry Harry – but, cheers!" George beamed, raising his glass of Goat Ale.

"I'll sleep with my eyes open," Harry acceded, clinking his own mug of brew.

"That's the spirit!" Ron patted him on the back. "How was the overnight, by the by?"

"Oh, not bad."

A blond barmaid passed their table, and Ron craned his neck suddenly, trying to get her attention; she glanced at him, scowled, and kept walking.

"Always great service at the Hog's Head," Ron muttered. He looked at George and Harry, hands upturned beseechingly. "Is it too much to ask to order food in a pub?"

"I'll take care of it," George said grandly, standing and stretching.

"Flirtatious prick," Ron murmured fondly, watching his brother swagger in the direction of the barmaid. The sight of George's winning smile was strangely affecting. Ron could have sworn he was looking at Fred.

"So, it's all right, then, Hogwarts?" Ron turned again to Harry. "Does it feel like old times, back there, or what?"

"Not really, no. I don't know. It's different being a teacher. Can't explain it…"

Ron leaned back and grinned. "It's because you're Harry Potter, and you're used to being the dog's bollocks, but now you're an old, naff, teacherly git."

"I'm still the dog's bollocks," Harry objected, petulantly.

"Is it weird being there without me?"

"Sort of, yeah," Harry admitted. "But I've got Neville, you know, and Malfoy."

"Pretty bleak, if Malfoy's your company."

"No, he's all right," explained Harry, head cocked thoughtfully, "Kind of quiet now. I mean, he talks more than he did seventh year, but nothing like when we were younger."

"If you say so." Ron shrugged, as George reclaimed his seat. "Eh, George, how'd we fare?"

"Shot down," George replied, cheerfully, "She's engaged. Reckon we'll be hungry tonight, gentlemen."

"Hey, talking of engaged," Harry remarked, "How do you reckon your fiancée is faring?" The girls and the mums were presently shopping for Hermione's wedding dress at a Muggle boutique in London.

"Oh, you know Hermione. Hates trying things on, hates being the center of attention," he said, smiling affectionately. "Probably wishes she was at home reading."

* * *

Hermione found herself surrounded by white silk, satin, and taffeta, and was instantly overwhelmed.

"Surely we could have ordered something from a catalogue…" she whispered.

Ginny laughed and hugged her round the shoulders. "This will be fun." She surveyed the room and sighed. "Oh, they're so beautiful."

The boutique was staffed by a pair of middle-aged Muggle sisters who seemed thankfully laissez faire about the process. "Hermione Granger?" one of them asked.

Hermione nodded, extending her hand.

"Lovely," the sister replied, shaking it gently, "And congratulations. You can feel free to pick out what you like, dear, and I'll help you into them whenever you're ready. Oh, and my name is Margaret."

Hermione thanked her, feeling dazed.

"This is delightful, Helen. I'm so pleased to be included." Molly Weasley beamed at Hermione's mum. Both of the mums, Hermione was learning, were endlessly thrilled when it came to wedding details.

"Shall we take to the racks?" suggested Ginny. "See what catches your eye?"

"Well," remarked Fleur, "Of course, you will be wanting a couture gown, yes? It must be magnifique, but also flatter ze body. I believe I am aware of ze precise style."

"Or we could just look at the racks," Ginny repeated, mouth setting stubbornly. She hooked her elbow in Hermione's, and guided her toward the sea of white.

Scrutinized one by one, the dresses were far less intimidating. Hermione found she rather enjoyed weeding the possibilities from the rabble. Off the cuff, she rejected anything too poufy, too fitted, and anything too revealing. Ginny, observing her preference for clean, simple fabrics and A-line silhouettes, handed off half a dozen options to Hermione's mum, whose enthusiasm never waned. Molly, for her part, simply wandered among the racks, seeming delighted by the quaint Muggleness of the shop.

Fleur, on the other hand, marched purposefully up and down the rows of dresses, fingering fabrics, eyeing silhouettes, and muttering huffy comments under her breath. The rare dresses that met her approval were carried quickly to the fitting room, usually before Hermione could catch a glimpse of them.

"Merlin," muttered Ginny, watching Fleur heading for the dressing room with a dramatic, over-embellished monstrosity. "Hermione, you don't have to try on anything you don't want to."

When a fair collection had accumulated on the hooks in the dressing room, the shop lady Margaret came back to help zip Hermione up. There wasn't a mirror inside the room, Hermione noticed, but there was a large mirror in a gilded frame mounted on the wall directly outside. The mums, Ginny, and Fleur were seated near it in mismatched armchairs.

"All right, dear, are you ready to get started?" Margaret shut the dressing room door, while Hermione stood awkwardly in her knickers, arms crossed tightly across her chest. "Now, all of the dresses in the shop are samples, so if you find one you love, we'll take your measurements and place an order. I believe your mum said the wedding was in the summer?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, the last Saturday in June."

"That's a lovely time of year, dear. Shall we get you into the first one?" Margaret pulled a simple lace a-line, one of Ginny's picks, off the hooks. "Here you go, that's it," she murmured, carefully unzipping it and holding it open so Hermione could step into it.

"What if the sample doesn't fit?" asked Hermione, as Margaret fussed with the zipper in the back.

"Well, if it's too big, I clamp it right up in the back, and if it's too small, I slide a panel of cloth in the back and clip it right to that. It's not perfect, but it will give you a sense of how it will look when it fits properly." She eased the zipper up over Hermione's back. "Though in your case, the sample fits quite well, doesn't it?"

Hermione looked down, trying to get a sense of the gown on her body. It was surreal to be wearing a wedding dress. She found herself unexpectedly curious, and also nervous, to see how it looked in the mirror.

Margaret smoothed the train, and they stepped out of the dressing room together, into the alcove where her mum and the Weasley women were waiting.

"Oh, Hermione," murmured her mum, sounding misty. Hermione's eyes travelled over each of their faces. Ginny was beaming, and Fleur's lips were pursed, appraisingly.

Molly Weasley put her hand to her heart. "You look lovely," she declared.

Hermione smiled bashfully, and lifted her eyes to her reflection in the mirror.

"Oh," she murmured, startled. It was strange and incongruous to see herself as a bride. She ran her fingers slowly along the curve of fabric across her chest.

"I love the neckline," Ginny enthused.

Hermione cocked her head to the side, studying her shoulders. "I'm not sure I want strapless."

"Turn around, love, and take a look at the back," urged her mother.

The dress was indisputably flattering, Hermione thought, turning slowly. There was a small lace train in the back, and she didn't know how to begin to decide if she liked it.

She looked up at her family and blushed at once to see that they were all watching her appraise herself in the mirror. How vain she must seem.

"I like it quite a bit," Hermione said, finally, "Not sure if it's _exactly_ what I want." She looked again at her shoulders.

"On to the next," Margaret declared, placidly.

By the time she had stepped out in a dozen dresses, Hermione was almost used to being fussed over. There was a rhythm to the process. Her mum and Molly loved everything, while Ginny was as easy to read as Ron would have been. Fleur kept her opinions surprisingly close to the chest; while she occasionally piped up to ask Hermione to turn or walk back and forth, she rarely volunteered commentary on the dresses.

Hermione, for her part, found that her eyes went automatically to her mother first, and then to the rest of the group. Only after reading their reactions did it occur to her to look in the mirror. When she did, confusion always prevailed. In one moment, she would feel almost beautiful, and in the next, ridiculous. Perhaps some women weren't meant to look like brides; perhaps it didn't suit her.

Margaret helped her out of a v-neck satin gown with a lace trim, and into the last remaining gown. "Let's get you zipped and – perfect," she declared, "Just – beautiful."

Hermione stepped out, and was met with silence. She shrugged her shoulders nervously, studying their faces.

"Who found this one?" Ginny asked, her voice nearly a sigh.

"I did." Fleur smiled, almost smugly.

Ginny's eyes widened. "You're kidding." Fleur's picks tended to feature dramatic silhouettes, odd, geometric necklines, and heavy embellishment.

Hermione turned to the mirror, and saw herself in ivory silk, with an overlay of tulle, subtle, asymmetrical ruffles along the bodice and skirt, and more pronounced ruffles along the straps. The dress skimmed her curves and flared lightly at the hips, ending behind her in a small train.

She felt a lump rise in her throat. It was nothing she would have noticed or picked for herself, but the dress seemed to be made for her.

"It's perfect," Ginny whispered. Hermione looked over her shoulder to see her mum blotting her eyes with Molly's handkerchief.

Hermione turned back to the mirror and beamed. The fact that she was getting married had never felt more real.

* * *

The crowd at the Three Broomsticks was already beginning to thicken when Harry arrived. "Excuse me, sorry," he muttered, nudging past what had to be the majority of Hogsmeade's young adult population. Many seemed to recognize him, and their excited whispers made Harry blush and walk faster.

They had claimed the long table in the back of the pub, and were on their first round of foamy ales. "Happy birthday," he greeted, kissing Hermione on the cheek.

She beamed up at him. "Glad you're here, Harry."

"Have a seat, mate, and we'll order you a pint," Ron offered, clapping him on the back. The pub was dimly lit with candles, and Harry could faintly hear guitar chords beneath the hum of the crowd. He took one of the open seats at the end of the table, next to Bill Weasley and facing the entrance.

"Good to see you, Harry," said Bill, nodding.

"Likewise – Fleur didn't come out?"

"Home with the girls."

"Send her my love, then," replied Harry.

Ginny Weasley and Susan Bones were across the table, both in town specifically for Hermione's twenty-fourth birthday. He smiled at them, and they both beamed back, the glow from the candles flickering across their faces. Harry had only casually known Susan at Hogwarts, but she and Hermione had roomed together all four years at Oxford and become quite close friends.

"How are you, Harry?' asked Susan.

"Quite well, and you? What are you doing these days?"

"I'm well, thanks. Training to be a lawyer. And you, I hear you're back at Hogwarts."

"I am – I'm teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Basically, Dumbledore's Army again, but they pay him this time," chimed Ginny. She and Harry exchanged smiles. "I hear Neville's still teaching Herbology."

"He is," confirmed Harry. "He's meant to be coming tonight, actually, but I reckon he's finishing up with a student. Malfoy may stop in as well."

"Draco Malfoy?" asked Susan, surprised. Ginny wrinkled her nose.

"Harry and Malfoy are best mates now," Ron explained, sounding amused. "Dunno if I should be jealous, or what?"

"We're not best mates," Harry said, blushing, "We just work together."

"Well, I think it's nice," contributed Hermione.

Harry shrugged, looking over the girls' heads to scan the crowd at the entrance. "He probably won't come anyway."

"So what's the latest in university news?" asked Susan, turning to Bill and Hermione. "Any progress?"

"Yeah, actually, a bit," replied Bill. He looked at Hermione, who bit back a grin. "Our loan was approved, and Gringotts gave us a ridiculously, amazingly low rate."

"Thanks to Bill's connections," interjected Hermione.

"Well, either way, it was so much better than we had dared to hope. In fact, it's generous enough that we could possibly open the school next fall, if we begin construction right away."

"Oh, how amazing – but," Susan broke off, looking at Hermione. "What about the wedding? Will the construction get in the way of having it there?"

"Oh, you know," Hermione replied vaguely, "We'll make it work. We can always do the wedding somewhere else if we have to. It's worth it to get everything started."

Ron grinned. "First time Hermione's had to choose between her work and her marriage – naturally, she chooses work." He nudged her affectionately in the ribs.

"Oh, hush."

"If you still want to do it at the university," remarked Ginny, "Why don't you do a tent on the Quidditch pitch?"

"There is no Quidditch pitch," Hermione explained.

Ginny looked concerned. "Where will they play Quidditch, then?"

"Well, we hadn't planned on having a Quidditch program."

"But that's not right!" Ginny said fervently. She shook her head. "Seriously? It's – I mean, back me up, Harry."

"Shocking. Criminal," agreed Harry, smiling vaguely. "Oi, there's Neville."

"Hi everyone," Neville greeted, shyly.

Ginny grinned, getting up to hug him. "I can't believe it – it's been over a year, hasn't it?"

Neville took the seat beside her, across from Harry. In the glow of the candlelight, he looked flushed and pleased.

"Hermione and Bill were just telling us how they're planning to throw away the opportunity to start the world's first university level Quidditch league," Ginny summarized.

"That's a shame, isn't it?" Neville said, uncertainly.

"Well – why don't you start it for us, then?" Hermione suggested, suddenly.

"Me?" asked Ginny.

"Yes, you. Who else here played professionally for four years?"

Ginny was silent, eyes huge, and Ron grinned at her, expectantly.

"I don't know," Hermione murmured, shrugging. "Just a thought."

"Merlin, Hermione, you don't have to…"

"Gin, you're living at the Burrow, working for Dad at the Ministry. And I bloody well know what that's like," Ron reminded her. "But this is like…" he shook his head, at a loss for words. "Like, I wish it was me, it's that bleeding awesome. And you could move to Hogsmeade."

Neville watched her, carefully.

Ginny rubbed her forehead. "I mean, it's brilliant. Hermione!" she shook her head, beaming. "Seriously? Can I do this? Can I start, like, yesterday?"

Hermione looked at Bill, who shrugged. "Consider yourself on the payroll starting Monday," said Bill.

Ginny's hands flew to her cheeks. "And you're paying me for this!" She sighed. "Best present you've ever given me for your birthday, Hermione," she quipped.

The night stretched on, and pint glasses were drained and refilled. A pair of American witches wandered over to ask Harry for his autograph – he scrawled his name on a napkin, cheeks burning. So, Ron took the piss for awhile, and then Ginny took the piss out of Ron for being jealous, and everything was sort of normal, wasn't it? Should have felt normal.

"What are you looking at, Harry?" asked Neville. He looked over his shoulder, following Harry's eyes.

"Huh? Nothing, really," Harry replied, hastily.

So, Malfoy wasn't going to show after, all, then. It wasn't as if it mattered much to Harry. He was just a bit surprised, was all, because Malfoy had seemed keen when Harry had mentioned it to him at work that day.

"Well," announced Susan, stretching as she stood up, "I think I'm going to make an early night of it. I've got loads of documents to read for work." She hugged Hermione, said her goodbyes, and set off for the floo.

"She always does that," mused Ginny, "Decides she's going to leave, and then she's gone. Very efficient."

"Can't help but admire it," replied Bill, yawning. He made his own exit a few minutes later, and when Ron and Hermione made a move to follow shortly thereafter, Harry knew that the night had ended. He felt oddly disappointed.

"Thank you all for coming out," Hermione said, smiling fondly at them.

"Good birthday?" asked Harry.

"The best," she replied, sighing happily, and glancing up at Ron. They pushed in their chairs, and everyone chimed their goodbyes.

"Well, I've got Teddy tomorrow, so think I'll head out soon as well," Harry started to say, but cut himself off sharply when he noticed a blond figure making his way through the crowd. His path crossed with Ron and Hermione as they were leaving, and Harry watched as they stopped to chat. Malfoy handed something to Hermione – some sort of birthday gift? She touched him briefly on the arm, and Ron and Malfoy exchanged a stiff handshake. Then, Hermione turned her head and gestured to the table where Harry was still sitting with Ginny and Neville. Malfoy's gaze followed, and he smiled tentatively when his eyes met Harry's.

Harry waved at him, grinning.

"Sorry I'm late," he greeted, sounding quite breathless. He looked briefly at Ginny and Neville, before turning again to Harry.

"Good to see you," Neville said, kindly. Ginny regarded Malfoy contemplatively, her expression neither welcoming nor hostile. Harry swiveled from Ginny to Malfoy and back, feeling suddenly awkward. There was a beat of tense silence.

Ginny grinned, finally, looking at Harry. "Surrounded by teachers."

"Just like the good old days of detention," Harry agreed.

"The memories," she replied, smirking, "So, I'm keen on staying for another round, if you lot are amenable. Celebrate my new job and upcoming move to Hogsmeade. Merlin, I've got to find a flat, haven't I?" She sighed happily. "It doesn't feel real yet."

"I could stay," Neville replied. "Harry, I know you've got to rest up for Teddy tomorrow."

"Yeah," Harry replied, vaguely, looking torn. He glanced at Malfoy.

"I was just heading out again myself," Draco said quickly. "Only meant to stay for a moment."

Harry smiled. "Brilliant – company for the walk back."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up.

* * *

Stepping out of the pub, the air was cool and a bit damp. I shivered and rubbed my hands together.

"You're always cold," observed Potter, sounding amused.

I worked to muster a clever response, but my wit failed me. "It's wet out," I explained, the words coming out far more snivelly than I had intended.

"Would you rather we apparated?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay." He rubbed the back of his neck briefly. We passed the Hog's Head and a few closed shops, working our way toward the path that lead to our flats. A veil of awkward silence hung between us. It occurred to me that we had never socialized outside of school before.

"So, who's Teddy?" I finally asked, bracing for his response.

"Teddy?" Potter replied, breaking into a smile. "He's my godson. Six years old. He's the best."

"I didn't know you had a godson." I relaxed. "Do you see him often?"

"I try to take him a couple of times a month. Bring him to Quidditch games and stuff, and have him spend the night. Let his gran have a lie-in." He smiled sadly. "He's an orphan – both his parents died in the war. His dad was our Professor Lupin, actually."

"Oh," I said, stopping short. "Teddy Lupin. I'm related to him - his mother was my cousin."

Potter looked at me, smiling faintly. "You know, I knew that, but I never put it together."

"I've never met him," I added.

"Oh, I'll introduce you."

"Yeah?" I chanced a sideways glance at him, my stomach fluttering lightly. Did he mean tomorrow?

"Yeah, I was just thinking I wanted to bring him by Hogwarts sometime next month, maybe for Halloween. Do you think McGonagall would allow it?"

"For you? I'm sure," I replied, swallowing my disappointment. "_Alohomora_," I added. We had arrived at the entry gates to our complex of flats.

"So, do you have any exciting plans for the rest of the weekend?" Potter asked, as the lock clicked shut again behind us.

"Oh, I don't know," I shrugged.

Weekends were, for me, something to be endured. There were occasional afternoon reunions with my former dormmates, which always left me feeling detached and adrift. I had so little in common with them now. Worse, Pansy had recently launched an awkwardly unsubtle campaign to forge a romantic pairing for me with Daphne Greengrass' younger sister. No longer could there be a group outing that didn't include blatant shifting of seating to ensure my proximity to this Astoria Greengrass. Pansy's cluelessness was, at times, astonishing, though in fairness, I had withheld information about myself that was, perhaps, relevant.

I often visited my parents at their cottage in France. It was peaceful there – none of us felt anything but relief when the Ministry appropriated the Manor. For the first time in my memory, my parents seemed relaxed and happy. They occasionally socialized with their French neighbors, and kept up with their old connections. I was doted on and spoilt every time I crossed their threshold, and it always took me a week or so to suppress the strain of haughty petulance that invariably crept back into my voice after the visit had ended – my teenaged self resurrected.

I studied Potter, his eyes wide and friendly behind his spectacles, utterly guileless. I didn't want to be my teenaged self again, not ever.

"Guess I'll see you Monday, then," Potter said. He smiled, and was gone.

* * *

Author's Note: Sticking with this? You are awesome. I won't leave you hanging for too long.


	3. October

I love you readers. This is so much fun! Ready for the next one?

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_By Neverbird_

October

* * *

October descended, crisp and cool, and the students of Hogwarts turned their attention nearly exclusively to Quidditch. Harry could hardly fault them for this collective obsession, nor was he above it, but it did add new layer of complexity to the already formidable task of educating lust-addled adolescent brains.

Harry's late afternoon double period with the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fourth-years was particularly taxing, all the more so with the Ravenclaw-Slytherin game scheduled for that evening. Dashing off for a quick trip to the toilets between classes, he had returned to find Felix Dobbs and Rhys MacFarlan holding court over their classmates, a pile of galleons accumulating on their shared worktable.

"Oh, hi, Professor P," Felix greeted, "You're just in time to place your bet. Odds are stacked against Slytherin."

"_My_ money's on Slytherin," countered Ellie Cattermole, matter of factly.

"Which makes you a disgrace to Ravenclaw," Felix retorted.

"All right," Harry said, "Everyone in your seats, thank you, so we can get started."

They ignored him entirely. "A disgrace, really? For making a strategic, intelligent bet?" Ellie regarded Felix disdainfully.

"Strategic," Felix laughed, "_Right._ Nothing to do with you fancying Monkleigh, I'm sure."

"Oh my gosh, shut up."

"Excuse me," Harry interjected loudly, "Class has begun, so I should see everyone seated with books open to page thirty-eight, reading silently." Harry hoisted himself backward onto his desk, concealing a tiny, smug smile. He had unleashed his professor voice. Behold its power.

"I heard Evan Monkleigh has a Comet Centurium," gushed Samantha Quince to her seatmate, "And they're not supposed to be out for nearly three months."

"Samantha."

"Sorry, Professor!"

He felt their attention wax and wane as he proceeded with his lecture. "On to the Unforgivable Curses – I expect you all finished the article I assigned." There was only silence. "Um, did anyone finish the reading?" Harry registered a few tentative nods and many guilty downward-shifted glances.

All in all, considering the quality of his own academic efforts at their age during Quidditch season, Harry reckoned this could only be karmic justice.

"Okay, so for those who read it, what were your impressions? Rhys?"

"It was pretty good," he replied, vaguely. Harry sighed inwardly – surely, it was reasonable to expect more from a Ravenclaw.

"Well, what about the question posed by the author in the last paragraph. What makes these three particular curses unforgivable? Should they be unforgivable? Bronwyn?"

"Um, okay, I say yes? Right? Well, okay, I don't know about the Imperius, but definitely, like, the Cruciatus, and definitely, definitely the Avada Kedavra."

"Great, Bronwyn," Harry enthused, "So why not the Imperius? What are your thoughts?"

Bronwyn Melcher looked a bit startled. "Um, so, like, this is from the textbook, okay, not the article? Because, okay, it said that it doesn't hurt, and the person under the spell feels quite good, don't they? So, like, I'm not saying it's right, 'cause you don't want someone to have control over you, I reckon. But I think I would forgive someone, right, so how can it be unforgivable?"

"Five points to Hufflepuff. Excellent, thank you." Harry gave her a high five, and she blushed and beamed. "Okay, so, the rest of you. Do you agree that the Imperius curse is more forgivable than the rest? Disagree? Ellie?"

"Actually, I think it _should_ be considered unforgivable, because it takes away someone's free will. Because what if someone did that to you and made you do something horrible, like murder someone?"

"Great, Ellie, five points to Raven - "

"Or worse," Felix interrupted, glancing wickedly at Ellie, "They could make you take your clothes off, and think of how the onlookers would suffer." A few students laughed nervously, and Ellie's jaw tensed.

Harry felt himself grow warm. "Felix, that's detention tonight, from the end of class until the start of the game."

"Seriously? Professor P, you can't do that - I'm running the betting tables!"

"Oh, I'm quite serious. And if you act like a prick again, you'll be here through the game as well."

The class gawked at this scene, wide-eyed and hushed. Good-natured, funny Professor Potter had never, in their presence, given a punishment more severe than a deduction of five house points – and even when he did, he almost always seemed to be actively suppressing his own amusement. For his part, Harry prayed inwardly that he wouldn't need to make good on this threat – he would, in fact, be as devastated as Felix to miss the first game of the season.

Harry collected himself, and carried on with the lesson. The class had been jolted into attentiveness, and a surprisingly thoughtful and dynamic discussion ensued. Felix remained stonily silent, looking down, apart from a few glares directed at Ellie.

"Cheers, excellent, and I'll see you on Monday for the practical exercise. You'll be working on resisting the Imperius, so please do read Chapter 4."

The buzz of excitement and energy that erupted as soon as Harry dismissed them made him ache for his own Quidditch days. He longed to be a part of the pre-game madness, even in its diluted teacherly form. Instead, he assigned a deliberately boring essay to a sullen, unhappy Felix, and settled into his desk to mark the twenty-six mind-numbing essays on nonverbal magical theory that the sixth-year N.E.W.T. students had unloaded that morning. Never before had it occurred to him that detention was as much of a punishment for teachers as it was for students.

When his sentence had been served, Felix bolted, clearly eager to take his place next to his mates in the stands. Harry put the classroom back together quickly with an impatient flick of his wand, pushing chairs in and levitating stray papers into the bin. Then, every bit as hastily as Felix had, he scrambled out to the Quidditch pitch, scanning the stands for Neville and Malfoy.

Spotting them sitting, surprisingly, among the Hufflepuffs, he wove through the rows of students in the stands, working his way toward them.

"Interesting choice of seats," he commented, sliding into the space Malfoy and Neville had saved between them.

"We're thinking of it as neutral territory." Malfoy drawled, his eyes bright.

Harry turned to look at him, and realized with a start that Malfoy was dressed in head-to-toe green: full Slytherin Quidditch robes, green tassels on his shoes, and his trademark striped green and silver scarf looped casually around his neck.

"Something you want to say, Potter?" Malfoy prompted, as Harry's eyes widened incredulously.

"Did you – your hair?" It was a bit of a trend these days, Neville had warned them, for the students to charm their hair in their house colors for Quidditch games. Malfoy's hair was always so pale that it was nearly impossible to tell for certain, but Harry thought it was tinted the very lightest shade of mint green tonight.

"Maybe," replied Malfoy, biting back a smile. Neville laughed at Harry's bemused expression.

"All right, then," Harry replied, finally, grinning and shaking his head. The air felt crisp and smelled like fall, and Harry was suddenly gripped with a long-lost, adolescent excitement that nearly left him breathless. He supposed it was the power of Quidditch.

"So where were you this evening?" asked Neville.

Harry grimaced. "Detention. Ravenclaw bloody fourth-years were acting like f–" Harry was momentarily baffled when his voice suddenly stopped working, until he saw Neville's apologetic smile.

"Did you silence me?" he asked, surprised and amused. Neville had gotten quick with the nonverbal spells, then.

Neville looked sheepish. "It's just that there are students around."

As if on cue, Harry felt a tap on his back from the row behind him. "Hi, Professors!" He turned to find Annaliese Smith and Meredith Gudgeon waving and grinning down at the three of them, their faces framed with matching emerald hair.

"Backing Slytherin tonight, are you?" Harry asked.

"Well, you know, I'm dating Evan Monkleigh now, so there you go!" Annaliese beamed. "And, of course, Meredith favors Slytherin because–"

"Shush!" hissed Meredith, blushing madly and staring pointedly at her hands. Annaliese clamped a hand over her mouth.

Meredith's mortification was soon forgotten in a burst of wild cheering from the stands as Madame Hooch released the four balls. The game had begun.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Hi Mum and Dad,

Just wanted to thank you again for your help last Saturday. I'm mostly unpacked and settled, down to those last few boxes of assorted rubbish (remind me why I felt the need to bring a nonfunctioning, antique Muggle telephone – though it's lovely, Dad!). I'll hide the clutter in the closet if I must, so it will appear as a serene and orderly home in time for the weekend. I'm really happy, though – excited about the new job, and looking forward to the party. Evidently, George is coming and bringing his latest, so I'll be sure to give you the full report.

So, is it quiet at the Burrow without me? You can always have Percy bring little Molly round again to unleash her guttural death-wail if things get too peaceful.

I miss you guys a lot, actually!

Love,

Ginny

* * *

"Gin, where do you want the wee sausage pastry thingies?" Ron hollered, the platter hovering expectantly over the table.

"What?" called Ginny from the bathroom.

"The sausage things?" Ron repeated, "On the yellow platter?"

"Oh, gosh, I don't know – just wherever there's room." Ginny emerged in the doorway, working her thick red hair into a ponytail. "Do you think the sweater's all right with this?"

"Bugger if I know," Ron said, shrugging. The sweater looked like it had the proper number of sleeves, in fact, and wasn't visibly stained. And her skirt covered the parts it was supposed to cover, so he reckoned it served its purpose.

"You're useless," remarked Ginny.

"Useless?" he sniffed, "And I reckon the sausage nobbies worked their way out of the warmer and onto the table all by themselves, did they?"

"Thank you, Ron, for setting out the hors d'oeuvres," Ginny obliged. "When's Hermione getting here?"

"Any moment now. I expect she's just injecting the cat." Crookshanks, in his old age, had accumulated an array of health problems, none of which had resulted in any loss of vigor, but which required an expensive regimen of daily intravenous potions.

"Oh, and I'm meant to let you know that Susan will be a bit late, because she's got another lawyer thing."

"Oh no – again? Poor Susan."

"Yeah, I know," Ron nodded soberly. "Makes me glad I work in a shop, and not some exalted, high power soul-suck of a job."

"Come now, Ron," Ginny patted him atop the head. "Dungbombs are exalted."

There was a knock at the door that could only be Hermione – always too polite to apparate inside.

"Looks great in here, Ginny," she enthused, surveying the spread of drinks and appetizers as she crossed the threshold. "Oh, and I've brought wine."

"How's our little one?" asked Ron.

Hermione smiled wryly. "Insurgent as ever." Crookshanks was wholly committed to resisting his injection, and subduing him was a nightly ordeal.

"Hermione, what do you think – is this okay?" Ginny presented her outfit for Hermione's approval. "Should I change to the green sweater?"

"No, don't change – it's perfect." Ginny was wearing a gray skirt, yellow flower-patterned blouse, and a navy cardigan she had bought while shopping with Hermione near Oxford last year. "He'll love it," she added quietly. Ginny smiled sheepishly.

* * *

My life, these days, was a string of moments that would have utterly stunned and bewildered my former, teenaged self. Stepping through the doorway of Ginny Weasley's flat was one of them. How startling – and yet, nowadays, not at all – to find myself an invited guest to her housewarming party.

"Hi, Draco!" Granger spotted me standing awkwardly near the entrance – or was I meant to call her Hermione now? Potter, too, had surprised me with my first name over breakfast on Wednesday – presumably a slip, as I was Malfoy again by lunch. I had been puzzling over it for days now.

For a moment, it seemed that Granger would hug me, but she seemed to reconsider, instead placing her hand briefly on my sleeve. "You made it!" she greeted, sounding genuinely pleased to see me. It felt nice – more than nice, actually. If Potter's attention was exciting, Granger's was exciting by association.

"I like her place," I remarked, awkwardly sidestepping the confusing issue of what to call the Weaslette in polite company. "I wasn't sure what to bring, so…" I shrugged, and produced a little handcrafted cauldron I had purchased earlier in the day from one of the shops in Hogsmeade.

"Oh, she'll love it," Granger replied, seeming amused. "Would you like a drink?"

As a bottle of beer levitated toward me, I let my eyes drift across the living room. There were so many people I didn't recognize – Ginny Weasley always seemed to have a surplus of friends. The couch had been annexed by half a dozen ruddy-cheeked, sporty looking witches, who I could only assume were Weasley's former teammates from the Holyhead Harpies. Potter was nowhere to be seen.

Moments later, Weasley herself emerged from a doorway near the back of the room, a bright-eyed little girl glommed onto her hip. She caught my eye and waved, and the child was hoisted and carried to where Granger and I stood.

"Glad you could make it," she said, shaking my hand. "Victoire, this is Mr. Malfoy, who works at the school with your mum." Victoire frowned, and promptly buried her head in Weasley's shoulder. "Not very welcoming," she murmured, kissing the little girl on the forehead, and releasing her. "My niece," she explained, smiling, as Victoire gaped at me, unabashedly.

"I have a housewarming gift for you," I said, awkwardly. I presented the cauldron.

"Oh, wow!" She grinned at me. "You really didn't have to do that. Very cool, though, Malfoy." She punched my shoulder lightly in thanks. "So yeah, make yourself at home. There's food on the table then, and you've got a beer, so great! Oh, and Susan's just arrived," she added, turning to Granger, "She and Harry are in the dining room."

"Oh, great!" Granger replied. She looked at me. "Shall we say hello?"

"Sure, why not?" I said, shrugging - best not to appear too eager.

"Careful, Victoire!" prompted Weasley. Victoire had gotten hold of the cauldron I had brought, and was now wearing it as a cap.

I trailed behind the girls as they wove through the crowd, Victoire peeking back at me with curiosity from over the Weaslette's shoulder. The dining room table was laid out with hors d'oeuvres: cut vegetables, crisps, and mini meat pies. I spotted Potter immediately when I walked in, though his back was to me, and there was a pleasant twist in my stomach. Turning twenty-three had been utterly pointless; my body had evidently decided it was sixteen again.

Potter was talking to a familiar-looking witch, whom Granger greeted with hug. "You remember Draco, of course?" she prompted, gesturing to me. So I was Draco again. I stepped forward and extended my hand.

"Susan Bones," she greeted, though I remembered her perfectly well from Hogwarts. She was more polished these days, and quite professional looking; she wore a straight black skirt, and her reddish-brown hair was pulled neatly back.

"Good to see you again," I replied.

Potter caught my eye and smiled. "You made it," he remarked, and I felt he sounded surprised and pleased. Victoire squirmed, and Weasley deposited her gently on the ground, where she walked assuredly toward another pocket of Weasleys in the doorway.

Susan turned to me. "So, Harry mentioned you're at Hogwarts," she related, nodding politely. "What do you teach?"

"Potions," I replied, and then feeling as though I should say more, I added, "Slughorn retired, so I filled his post."

"Good for you – do you like it?"

"Sort of, yeah." I nodded earnestly. In my peripheral vision, I noticed that Granger had stepped away, leaving Potter talking to Weasley. He murmured something too quietly for me to hear, and Weasley erupted into giggles.

"What about you? What do you do?" I asked Susan, my voice sounding loud.

"Training as a lawyer," she said. "Came straightaway from work tonight, in fact. Our case goes before the Wizengamot in a fortnight." I struggled to maintain eye contact as she elaborated on the drama of the courtroom, a task made nearly impossible by fact that Weasley's hand was now resting lightly on Potter's arm. It was a casual gesture, but it made my throat clench.

"Just a technicality, really," Susan was saying. I was utterly lost to the context. "But if it makes a difference, there you have it."

"Mmm," I replied, noncommittally, sternly compelling myself to focus. Susan smiled brightly at me. She had gotten prettier since graduating from Hogwarts, I observed, with almost clinical detachment. It was wasted on me, obviously.

"So, what have you been doing up until now, since we graduated?" Susan asked, pausing to sip her wine.

I willed my eyes not to drift toward Potter and Weasley. "I was working in a development laboratory for reproductive potions."

"Really?" she tilted her head to the side, regarding me with interest. "Like, fertility potions?"

I nodded. "Fertility and contraception, but mostly fertility. For the last couple of years, I was on the team developing the Homogamete Philter. Have you heard of it?"

"I think so," Susan replied, "It makes fertilization possible between two of the same type of sex cell, doesn't it?"

I nodded. "Yes, exactly."

"What interesting work. How did you get into it?"

"Oh, you know," I said vaguely, "It was just where I ended up."

"That's really amazing!" remarked Weasley, and I realized with a start that she and Potter had been listening to our conversation. I glanced at Potter, feeling my cheeks grow warm.

"I didn't know that was even possible," he said.

I glanced at him, surprised – surely, Potter, of all people, would be familiar with the Philter.

"It's really exciting for same-sex couples who want children," chimed Susan. "Though, is it true that a pair of witches can only conceive female children?"

"Yes, because there are only X chromosomes to select from. Wizard couples can conceive children of both sexes, though they're more likely to conceive boys," I avoided Potter's gaze. "They need a female surrogate, also, to carry a child to term."

Weasley looked fascinated. "That's really incredible – wow." She turned to Potter, explaining, "So many of the Harpies are gay – this will mean the world to some of them."

I couldn't help but study Potter's reaction, but he only nodded distractedly.

We were joined by Ron and George Weasley. Another surreal moment – willingly standing in direct proximity to three Weasleys. Four, if you counted the indefatigable Victoire, who had run up behind Ron and was now persistently swatting him in the bum. George Weasley's arm was draped confidently across the shoulders of a witch whose appearance could best be summarized by the word "cleavage." "Everyone, meet Tilly."

"Titty?" choked Ginny Weasley, incredulously.

"Tilly," George corrected, grinning, while Potter stifled a snort. Somehow, I made accidental eye contact with Ginny Weasley, as she raised her eyebrows with distaste. She smiled guiltily at me before quickly shifting her eyes downward in the direction of her niece.

Tilly gaped at Potter for what felt like ten minutes, before bursting out with, "I can't believe I'm actually meeting you in person!"

"Oh, well…" Potter blushed, "It's nice to meet you, too."

Tilly giggled. "It's really you, though!"

"So, Harry," Ron seemed ready to move on from the subject of Tilly actually meeting Harry Potter and it really being him. "Did your students enjoy Hogsmeade last week?"

"Well, considering that half of them came back with snog marks on their necks, yes, I expect they did enjoy it," Potter replied grimly. He glanced up at Ron. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Weasley grinned. "So, George, did you tell Harry about all our new inventory?"

"What new inventory?" Potter's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Oh, I expect you'll find out on Monday." Weasley smirked, and then turned to me. "As will you."

"How wonderful," I replied, raising my eyebrows.

Potter smiled wryly. "Can't wait."

* * *

"Double bubble toilet trouble," moaned the small skeleton currently occupying the corner of Harry's classroom. His voice grew gruff and menacing. "Double…bubble…toilet…trouble."

"You ready, Teddy?" Harry replied, levitating a stack of parchment from his desk. "They'll be here in just a minute."

"Should I hide? And you could tell them I'm not here, and then I could like jump out and scare them?"

"I thought you were helping me teach today," reminded Harry.

Teddy skidded nimbly toward him in his black skeleton suit, painted bones gleaming in the half-light of the classroom. "Oh yeah!" He stood briefly on one foot. "Okay," he considered, "I want to teach them about…" His eyes slid wickedly sideways. "Dragon dung!" he concluded, collapsing with giggles.

"Dung?" replied Harry, sending Teddy into paroxysms of laughter yet again. "But what about teaching them about your faces?"

"Yeah!" Teddy exclaimed. Immediately, he occupied himself with transforming his face into a replica of Harry's. Maisie Cattermole did a double take as she stepped through the doorway. "WHOA, Professor Potter! You have a kid?" blurted Jack Chapman, arriving behind her. "He looks just like you!"

Harry laughed and shook his head, but Jack had already turned away, whispering eagerly to Maisie.

The Gryffindor and Slytherin third-years arrived in their usual clusters, each reacting dramatically to the presence of the tiny skeleton who shared their professor's face. Excited conversation bloomed, a general buzz punctuated frequently by the word "lovechild." Teddy beamed and strutted through the room, thrilled by the attention.

"How old were you when you had him?" piped Martin Gustafson, who always seemed keen to say something inappropriate.

"All right," Harry said loudly, shaking his head. "In your seats, everyone." He smiled slightly. "I'd like you all to meet my godson, Teddy."

"Your 'godson', who happens to look exactly like you," Martin contributed cheerfully.

"My godson, who happens to be a metamorphmagus," Harry countered. "And his dad, in fact, was my Defense Against the Arts teacher third year." Harry smiled fondly at Teddy, thinking of Remus.

"Want to show them what you can do, Ted?"

* * *

Classes after lunch had been canceled in honor of Halloween, and students third year and above were given permission to spend a few hours in Hogsmeade before the feast. I waited for Potter and Longbottom in the annex, watching the students stampede past on their way out of the castle.

Many were already in costume, a parade of ghouls, mummies, and the perennial favorite of teenage witches, the Tarty Muggle. It was barely past noon, and I had already sent two fourth-year girls back to their dormitories for costume modifications in the name of decency.

Of course, there were at least two dozen Harry Potters of various heights and genders, all wearing their official Potter Specs, currently the best-selling item from the Halloween collection at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It made waiting for the real Potter unduly complicated – it was disconcerting, truly, to see a Potter figure in the distance, only to find that he was wearing a miniskirt and had the face of Miranda Warbeck.

Potter approached at last, holding the hand of a small, green-haired child in a zip-up skeleton suit. He leaned down and murmured something in the boy's ear, before looking back up at me with a smile.

"Teddy, this is my friend Draco I told you about." Potter's periodic use of my first name was bewildering.

"Nice to meet you, Teddy," I said, as calmly as I could manage, shaking his hand. Teddy accepted the handshake, looking at me apprasingly.

"Since when are you shy?" Potter laughed, looking down at his godson with surprise. "Hey, guess what?" he added.

"What?" said Teddy, cocking his head and smiling.

"You and Draco are related."

Teddy shot me a dubious look before looking back at Harry.

"Yup, your gran and his mum are sisters, which makes you sort of cousins."

Teddy shook his head. "No, my gran doesn't have a sister. She's old," he explained earnestly.

Potter and I looked at each other and laughed.

"Where's Longbottom?" I asked.

"Got tied up again with his N.E.W.T. students, so he's not going to make it," Potter explained, "Always on duty. I, on the other hand, let a six-year-old teach my classes all morning."

"As you should," I replied, nodding approvingly at Teddy.

"So, are you still up for Hogsmeade? I figured we'd pop in on Ron at the shop, and I promised this lad I'd show him the Shrieking Shack."

"And ice cream," Teddy reminded him, bouncing on his heels.

"And ice cream," conceded Potter, adding in a low tone, "And then, it's back to my place for a n-a-p."

"I can spell," Teddy informed him, "You said 'nap,' but I don't take naps anymore."

"Shall we just call it quiet time, then?" Potter suggested.

"When grown-ups say 'quiet time,' they really mean it's a nap," Teddy observed darkly.

We flew over the lake, Teddy clinging to his godfather and howling with laughter as Potter guided the broomstick through a few gratuitous loop-de-loops. When we reached the other side, I propped my Centurium next to Potter's third generation Firebolt, murmuring the basic security charms so we could leave them without fear that they would be stolen. The afternoon was cloudy and cool, and Teddy's enthusiasm was infectious as we approached Hogsmeade. He charged ahead, his hair rapidly changing color, while Potter and I followed at a relaxed pace.

"And don't let me forget to hex the living daylights out of Ron. I get to go back and redo all my marking from this week, thanks to his Magic Marks Parchment."

"His what?" I replied, apprehensively.

"Magic Marks Parchment – if they write their assignment on it, any mark you give it will turn into an O as soon as you look away. Another of George's inventions." Potter shook his head in annoyance. "And he couldn't have come up with it when we were in school, could he?"

I groaned. "I spent all of last night marking laboratory reports to hand back to the fourth-years."

Potter shook his head sympathetically. "We'll have to kill Ron. And George," he added.

"If we must."

* * *

"Out like _nox_," Harry announced, stepping into the living room, "Passed out."

Draco Malfoy looked up at him from the sofa. "But naps are for babies," he remarked, echoing Teddy. Harry laughed – Teddy had launched a campaign against "quiet time" as soon as he finished his last bite of ice cream.

"He just really hates the idea that something might be going on without him while he's sleeping." Harry shook his head.

"Curious to know what he expects he'll miss in half an hour's time."

"Oh, you know," Harry shrugged, "Dragons, monsters, duels…"

"Basically, our first two years at Hogwarts."

Harry chuckled appreciatively, settling in on the sofa next to Draco. "Didn't you and I duel each other?"

Draco looked at him sidelong, smiling inscrutably. "Of course."

Harry let his eyes linger on Draco's profile, noting the sharp chin, thin lips, and stormy gray eyes, lined with thick, pale lashes. Draco shouldn't be handsome, but he was, and startlingly so. It wasn't the sort of thing Harry typically noticed about other blokes.

Harry cleared his throat. "It's funny that we're friends now, given, you know," he ventured. It didn't make sense, but his heart was pounding.

"It is," agreed Draco, softly.

Harry fidgeted with his spectacles, looking pointedly away. A short silence swelled between them.

"So," Harry remarked, finally, "What did you think of Ron's shop?"

"It was interesting," Draco shrugged nonchalantly, betraying no hint of the unaccountable awkwardness that Harry couldn't seem to shake. "I had an informative visit." He smiled, suddenly.

"Oh yeah?" Harry replied, unable to resist grinning back.

"Mmm. I'd say I have a fairly good sense now of which items I'll need to confiscate in the coming weeks."

"And you'll share that knowledge with your colleagues, won't you?"

Draco cocked his head to the side, smirking. "I haven't quite decided that yet."

Harry swatted him on the arm, and then regretted it instantly. Flushing inexplicably, he couldn't seem to banish the thought that he was coming off as somehow flirtatious. Which was preposterous, honestly, because Harry didn't flirt with wizards.

"I should probably wake up Ted if we think we're getting back in time for the feast," Harry managed, rising suddenly from the sofa. "You don't reckon we can skip it, can we? Do they really need chaperones?"

"Well, let's see. Our charming students will be coming back from Hogsmeade, having consumed, let's say, five or six butterbeers each, and that's only the ones who didn't sneak into the Hog's Head. And then, there's the fact that most of them are wearing about half the clothing they normally wear."

"And the lights will be dim in the Great Hall," Harry added, shaking his head gravely. "It's going to be a bloody snogfest, isn't it?"

"Rather awkward, I suppose, that half of them are dressed up as you," Draco contributed unhelpfully. "Have you ever wanted to watch yourself snog a ghoul?"

"Not even slightly," Harry groaned, nonetheless fighting a smile as he left the room to rouse Teddy.

* * *

Author's Note: I made a deal with Teddy that he gets to stay up fifteen minutes past his bedtime tonight for every person who reviews. Do it for Teddy!


	4. November

You guys. Teddy got to stay up so late last night, and he loves you SO much. He ate an entire box of cockroach clusters ("Latte-grrl WANTED ME TO HAVE CANDY OMG I LOVE HER I LOVE HER!"), jumped on the bed for an hour, and collapsed in a fit of giggles so loud it woke the neighbors. And he wasn't half as excited as I was. Thank you all so much from both of us. Really, it means so much. Basically, thanks to you all, I'm having way too much fun to wait between updates, so I'll be rolling out chapters as soon as I have a chance to make my final edits (there are twelve chapters in all, so sit tight!).

Thanks again, readers!

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_By Neverbird_

November

* * *

The days settled into a comfortable rhythm: chilly commutes across the lake, meals with Potter and Longbottom in the Great Hall, and hours spent hearing my own voice drone on about potions. My ingredient stores depleted slowly as the days grew shorter and colder. I liked the predictability of each day – I had clung to routines as a child, and I took comfort in them once again after the war had ended. Everything about life at Hogwarts was orderly and manageable now. I was as happy as I had ever remembered being.

The students had their own routines, including the daily race against the hourglass during lunch to begin and complete assignments that were due that afternoon. As the end of the hour approached, the scribbling always reached a fever pitch.

I watched their frantic efforts with satisfaction. "I always aim to assign just enough," I remarked, "That it can't be done during the hour."

Potter smiled. "Sadistic Professor Malfoy."

Longbottom sighed. "I'm just glad they've started it."

"And I'm glad for an hour without snogging," chimed Potter. "Can't snog and write at the same time, can they?"

"Don't say that too loudly, or they'll think it's a challenge." I shook my head, eyeing the Gryffindor table. "And is it overly picky for me to prefer that Mr. Chapman not hold a pork chop whilst completing his potions review?"

"It's nice when the homework comes back pork-scented, though," Potter countered.

"Oh, hey," Longbottom interjected, his eyes focused at a point over my shoulder. I twisted in my seat in time to see Ginny Weasley stride somewhat self-consciously across the Great Hall toward our table. She saw us, and lifted her hand in a slight wave.

"Hi," she greeted, coming round the far end of the table to slide in next to Longbottom.

"What are you doing here?" Potter asked, cocking his head to the side and smiling.

She grinned back at him. "I'm meeting with McGonagall in a minute about Quidditch stuff, so I thought I'd pop in and say hello."

"Quidditch stuff?" Longbottom asked.

Weasley nodded. "I'm trying to arrange for there to be a competition, eventually, between the university and Hogwarts Quidditch teams. It's in the preliminary stages, obviously, since we haven't even reached a final decision about how we're structuring the university Quidditch league, but I wanted to broach the subject and get McGonagall's take on it."

"How are you thinking about structuring the university league?" I asked, curious.

"Hopefully, sort of like we do it here – house teams that play each other and progress toward a championship." She shrugged. "But Hermione's not sure she wants to divide students into houses. We'll see how it goes. Anyway," she yawned, resting her hand briefly on Longbottom's shoulder as she slid out of the bench again, "I should probably track McGonagall down." Longbottom's cheeks glowed pink.

"So, I'll see you guys around. Well, Harry, I guess I'll see you on Saturday." She flashed him a brief smile before waving goodbye and departing.

"What's on Saturday?" I asked Potter, laboring to sound casual. My heart pounded softly, and I braced myself.

"Oh, um," Potter replied, suddenly appearing absorbed in the scraps of potato left on his plate. "It isn't a big deal. I guess it's, you know. A date, sort of."

"Oh," I replied, a tight lump settling into my throat. "How nice."

"Yeah, I guess so," Potter replied, nodding uncertainly. Longbottom looked crestfallen.

"Well," I announced briskly, standing and readjusting my scarf. "I'm off to the dungeons."

"See you at dinner?" asked Potter, biting his lip.

"I don't know. Maybe not," I replied. I felt his eyes on my back as I departed. I didn't care if I sounded cold.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Georgie Porgie,

Just a quick note to say how lovely it was meeting your new girlfriend last month. The conversation was truly titillating. I'm sure we will be bosom friends, and continue to make the fondest mammaries for years to come.

All the breast,

Ron

* * *

Arriving early to the Flying Carpet, Harry conjured a bluebell flame and settled into a chair by the entrance to wait. The cold air chilled the frames of his spectacles and made his nose drip, but it was actually sort of pleasant watching the setting sun glint off the rooftops of the shops. Hogwarts, in the distance, appeared as a black silhouette framed in gold light. A savory, spicy smell wafted gently from the doorway of the restaurant, making Harry's stomach growl.

It was mind-boggling, really, that in a few minutes' time, he would be sitting in a booth across from Ginny on their first date in four years. Harry thought it was probably a good thing, but… well, he didn't know what. He was excited to see her, or was excited to have kebabs with her anyway. At least, he was excited to have kebabs. In all honestly, Harry felt sort of muddled – there was an edge to his feelings that he didn't quite understand.

Draco's reaction had baffled him, for one thing. It shouldn't have mattered, but Harry had gotten sort of used to Draco being around. In fact, there were times when Harry felt that earning Draco's quiet laugh was the central purpose of his day. It wasn't something Harry wanted to examine too closely, but there it was. And then at lunch on Wednesday, it felt like the warmth had been drained from the room as soon as he'd mentioned the date with Ginny. For the rest of the week, Draco never seemed to be around at mealtimes, and Harry barely caught a glimpse of him on their Thursday overnight duty. It was confusing and disconcerting.

He spotted Ginny in the distance; a wool hat obscured her distinctive hair, but she was recognizable by her walk. She caught his eye and quickened her pace, grinning as she approached. Harry stood up and extinguished his bluebell flame, wiping his hands on his trousers. Ginny pulled the hat off her head, shaking out her bright red hair. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold. They hugged briefly, and Harry was struck with the familiarity of her height and her scent.

"I've never been here – have you?" she asked, smoothing her hair behind her ears.

"No, I think it's quite new. Smells pretty good."

"Yeah it does – my mouth is already watering. Great choice." She raised her mittened hand for a high five, which Harry obliged. "Come on, let's get inside before we freeze."

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Very clever, Ickle Ronnie-love,

I am simply a twin who appreciates a nice set of twins. Your fiancée's ones aren't half bad either, by the by.

Fondly,

George

* * *

If my teenaged self could see me now. Saturday evening found me standing before the door to Longbottom's flat, poised to knock. I hesitated for a moment, my dignity on the line, but desperation reigned. My knocks resounded, loud and hollow.

Footsteps approached, and then there was the pause of someone peering through the peephole. The flats in Little Hogwarts had a small window of glass that was specially charmed to see through enchantments – most residences had added this feature during the war. I lifted my hand in a curt wave, rocking impatiently on the balls of my feet. I heard the click of the lock, and the door swung open. "Draco?"

"Longbottom," I replied. "Can I come in?" He wore pajama trousers and, surprisingly, spectacles, through which he peered at me with apparent curiosity.

"Um, sure," he replied slowly, stepping aside to clear the doorway. "And, please, you can call me Neville. Please," he repeated.

"Neville it is," I agreed, feeling stupidly grateful as I crossed the threshold. "Thanks," I attempted. Everything felt off.

"Sure." He seemed at a slight loss. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Yes, please," I said quickly, and then cringed at my own eagerness.

"What would you like?"

"Anything."

Neville nodded, smiling slightly as he flicked his wand. Two bottles of beer levitated from the kitchen, their caps already removed. I followed Neville to the couch, and watched distractedly as he tossed aside various pillows to make room. The layout of the flat matched mine entirely, but his décor was entirely his own: plush, oversized furniture that carried traces of an almost grandmotherly scent, piles of books and papers, and potted plants thriving on every surface. "So, what are you…" Neville was incapable of being rude or even blunt. "Is everything okay?"

I glanced at him, feeling clumsy and sheepish and entirely not myself. "I'm fine," I replied, rubbing my forehead.

Neville took a sip of his beer. "Harry and Ginny are having their date tonight," he observed.

"I'm aware of that." I stared briefly into the brown glass of my bottle.

"You're not thrilled about it?" I felt Neville's eyes studying me carefully.

"Are you?"

Neville laughed softly. "No," he admitted, and I smiled, reluctantly. He nodded slowly, before turning again to look at me. "How long have you liked her?"

"What?"

"Ginny," he said, gently, his voice almost cradling the name.

"Oh," I replied. "I don't."

"Okay, but…" Neville looked briefly confused, until his eyes widened with sudden comprehension. "Oh. _Oh_." And there it was. I felt blood rush to my cheeks, but I met Neville's eyes defiantly.

"It's Harry," Neville said, softly. I didn't respond. "Okay – oh, that's, you know. Nothing wrong with it."

"Except for the fact that he's straight. And he's Harry Potter." I pointed out, taking a hearty swallow of beer.

"He is Harry Potter," agreed Neville, sounding defeated.

"What do you think they're doing right now?"

Neville shook his head. "I don't want to think about it."

"But aren't you thinking about it?" I leaned back into the couch cushion. "Fuck."

"How long have you liked him?"

"Can I have another beer?"

Neville nodded patiently, summoning a bottle.

"How long have you liked Weasley?" I countered, finally, a coward's reply.

"Since September," he said, "And most of fourth year. And fifth year. And seventh year."

"The first seventh year or the second?'

"Um. Both."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. This situation is complete shit for both of us."

"We should be happy for them," Neville muttered gloomily.

"Well, I'm not a saint, so no," I glanced at him sideways, "I'm not happy for them."

"You really like him." Neville seemed stunned.

"Does it matter?" I turned my face away quickly. I felt such exhaustion, such melancholy.

"I don't know," Neville replied glumly.

I flopped backward on the couch. "I suppose she's pretty," I grumbled, "If you like that sort of thing. Which I guess you do." I felt a sulk coming on.

"Now you're just feeling sorry for yourself," Neville pointed out.

I felt my lips tug into a smile. "So are you."

"Yeah," he admitted, groaning slightly. "I'm getting another beer."

"Longbot – Neville?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have anything chocolate?"

* * *

The transition back to working hours after the weekend was always rough on Harry. On Monday, per his routine, he arrived late for breakfast and desperate for coffee. Neville and Draco had saved a seat for him, with a warm, fragrant mug ready for his consumption. He felt a rush of relief, through his exhaustion. Harry wasn't sure how he had fixed things or how he had botched things up in the first place, but either way: Draco was evidently finished avoiding him.

"Nice weekend, Harry?" Neville asked, blandly.

Harry sucked down his caffeine, the scent of it making him feel more alert already. "Yeah, not bad," he replied, surfacing for air at last.

"Do anything interesting?" Neville gave the impression of laboring hard to sound casual, and Harry shot him an odd look.

"Well, I mean - "

"'Arry! You boys. I have something vairy important to be discussing." Fleur had descended upon them suddenly, as gorgeous and overwhelming as ever. "It is nearly December, is it not?"

"Kind of," replied Harry.

"Barely enough time, I am afraid. I 'ave decided that this year, we must be having a Yule Ball at 'Ogwarts. There is no question."

"Okay," said Harry. Draco and Neville looked at each other and shrugged.

"It shall take place on the twenty-third of December. And I must have many, many chaperones. I am certain to be counting on you boys, yes?" she concluded, regarding them so sternly that Harry felt a moment's worry that his name was down for detention.

"I'll do it," Harry replied immediately, feeling that any amount of hesitation would not sit well with the formidable Madame Weasley. Truth be told, he was happy to be asked. For one thing, it was nice to know that Fleur realized he was adult. Even better, it was something to fill that interminable stretch before Christmas, when it seemed that nearly everyone was hunkered down in front of glowing fireplaces, surrounded by family. Harry normally spent Christmas Eve with Andromeda and Teddy nowadays, and Christmas Day was always reserved for the Weasleys. As for the rest of the time – he supposed he just tried to stay out of everyone's way. Having a Yule Ball to look forward to changed everything, though. In fact, at the moment, Harry couldn't think of anything more appealing than an evening sipping punch and gossiping about his students with Neville and Draco.

"Oh," Neville murmured, his soft voice apologetic, "I can't make it. I'm sorry." He stared dejectedly at his plate, and Harry realized at once that Neville must have plans to visit his parents at St. Mungo's.

"I've got plans already as well," added Draco, sounding sincerely regretful, and Harry was struck with a sharp pang of disappointment that he couldn't explain.

"What sort of plans?" he asked, before he could stop himself. Draco regarded him levelly, and Harry's cheeks caught fire.

"My parents are expecting me as soon as term ends," Draco replied, after a moment's hesitation.

"A long time to be spending with one's parents, hmm?" Fleur commented, sparing him a disdainful glance. Harry privately agreed, wholeheartedly.

* * *

"Well, honestly," said Ginny, "It didn't go all that well." She shrugged, and took a quick sip from her mug. "Oww – bloody – hot!"

"Blow on it," Hermione suggested. "So, what makes you think that?"

"It just – I mean, it was fine. It just didn't feel like a date. He seemed preoccupied." She smoothed her straight hair back, twisted it into a knot, and promptly released it. "It just didn't feel right. It's not – it's not going anywhere."

"I'm sorry, Gin," Hermione replied softly, frowning with concern.

"Oh, I'm fine. I'll be fine." Ginny smiled winningly. "I bounce back."

"I know," Hermione nodded. "Doesn't mean it's easy, though."

"Yeah, well… oh look," She gestured to her mug. "Muggles know about marshmallows."

"Of course they do."

"That's brilliant. And they put them right in the cocoa."

"You're welcome to mine," Hermione offered.

Ginny sighed gratefully. "You're a good friend." Using a fork and a spoon in tandem, Ginny executed a complicated maneuver to transfer the marshmallow to her mug. "A wand would have simplified that," she commented.

"Might not have gone over well with the Muggles, though," Hermione said, smiling. The pub wasn't exactly crowded this early in the afternoon, but in a way, that made them even more conspicuous. Nonetheless, it was a cozy spot, with round wooden tables, dark navy walls, and strings of Christmas lights.

"When's Susan getting here?" Ginny asked.

"Should be any minute." Hermione nodded. "I'm guessing you'd rather not discuss the Harry thing when she's here."

"Thanks," Ginny said, smiling slightly.

"You know…for what it's worth, Ron and I were friends before anything happened, for years. I know you know that."

"I'm not waiting years for Harry," Ginny sighed, "Already did that."

A bell on the door tinkled softly as the door swung open, revealing Susan, bright-eyed and flushed from the cold. She caught their eyes and waved, joining them at the table.

"We kept it warm for you," Hermione said, nudging a mug of cocoa toward her.

"Thank you! Sorry I'm late. Had to find a floo." Susan was possibly the only person younger than Ginny's parents who bothered with anything other than apparition – she had been splinched once at school, and had evidently never quite gotten over it.

"How are you?" Ginny greeted.

"Good, good. Work's calmed down a bit, so, yeah." Susan slid her coat around the back of her chair and wrapped her hands around her mug to warm them. "So, how are you guys? Any updates on wedding plans?"

"Oh, they're coming along," Hermione replied.

Ginny gingerly picked up a marshmallow and bit off the end of it. "When are you going to tell us what you want us to wear?"

"I'm not," Hermione laughed.

"You haven't started thinking about bridesmaid dresses?"

"I mean, I've thought about it, but I figured you could pick your own dresses. It's only you two and my cousin Laura."

"Sorry," clarified Susan, "Any dresses?"

"Fine with me."

"Can you give us a color?" Susan sounded baffled.

"Okay," Hermione obliged, "Blue?"

Susan and Ginny exchanged a glance. "Any particular shade of blue?" Susan asked.

Hermione looked mildly distressed. "I don't know – any shade is fine, really."

"You really don't care?" Ginny marveled. "Aren't you supposed to be a bride?"

"I'm not good at this," Hermione sighed.

Susan patted her arm. "No, it's great that you're so relaxed about it all. How are all the other bits coming along?"

"Good… you really want to hear about this stuff?" Hermione asked dubiously.

"Yes!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Okay, well – we've just booked two photographers."

"Why two?"

Hermione paused to sip her drink. "Well, we wanted to have wizarding and Muggle photos so we can share them with both families. Most of my family doesn't know I'm a witch. Yet," she added smiling ruefully.

"You may make it through the night without being outed. Dad's pretty excited about going undercover for the evening. He's been giving Muggle lessons to all of his and Mum's friends." Ginny grinned. "Which isn't to say that Hagrid won't bring a dragon or something as a gift."

"Will it be a big wedding?" Susan wondered.

"We're inviting about one hundred and fifty people, though I can't say how many will be able to make it."

"Out of curiosity," Susan asked casually, "Do you think you'll invite Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione smiled. "If you'd asked that a few years ago, I'd assume you were being sarcastic," she reflected, "But, yes, I think so. He and Harry are really good friends now."

"Are they?" murmured Ginny.

"Yeah, if you hear Harry talk about it, they're practically inseparable. Ron's baffled by it."

"You're not," observed Susan.

"Well, I don't know. I suppose Draco has always gotten quite a bit of Harry's mental energy, hasn't he? I mean, it's weird, don't get me wrong, but – not surprising, if that makes sense?" Hermione glanced at Ginny, who frowned contemplatively.

"He's interesting, isn't he? Draco?" Susan nodded eagerly. "His work on the Homogamete Philter… he seems quite different than he used to be."

"Well, I should hope so," Ginny remarked. "He used to be a complete prick, not to mention a Death Eater." She flushed guiltily, feeling that she had been a bit blunt.

"Yeah, but even then, Harry spoke on his behalf in front of the Wizengamot," Hermione murmured. "I guess it all comes down to the fact that Harry trusts him, so I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt."

Susan nodded, spooning her cocoa into her mouth like soup. "Remember how he was after the war, when he came back to school? He was just very quiet. I always thought he seemed so sad."

"I remember he was very reserved," agreed Hermione.

"He seems livelier now, though. But he's a little shy around us, isn't he?" reflected Susan.

"Well, in a way, we're just getting to know him," Hermione pointed out.

"Susan… do you fancy Draco Malfoy?" Ginny came out and asked, leaning forward.

"What?" Susan squeaked, turning bright red.

"I'm just saying…"

Susan buried her face in her hands. "Is it obvious?" she muttered.

"No, I'm perceptive," replied Ginny. "But – is Malfoy straight?"

"Why do you ask?" wondered Hermione.

"Just a … I don't know. I'm sure he is, though." Ginny nodded uncertainly. "I think he's going to the game next weekend – are you coming?"

"Maybe I will," Susan said, smiling sheepishly.

* * *

"We're really Hufflepuffs today?" Weasley asked in apparent disbelief, eyeing his surroundings warily.

"Funny, I've always been one," Susan Bones pointed out, looking down at him. She was huddled next to Hermione and Neville, and had been conversing in low tones about something unrelated to Quidditch. Weasley and his sister, looking garish in head to toe red, had made a point to sit a row ahead, specifically to keep this trio of Quidditch non-devotees out of their line of vision.

"We always sit in Hufflepuff," Harry replied breezily. "It's neutral." He turned to me and grinned. He was all in red as well, down to his socks, but of course it suited him. I was his exact counterpoint, entirely in green. Slytherin versus Gryffindor, like we were sixteen again.

"And they're off!" shouted the amplified voice of Daniel White, and a wave of excited murmurs rose from the crowd. "Finley's got the Quaffle, but oh, she's passed it to Gustafson, and now he's looking for an opening – there, a successful pass to Chapman – nice work, mate! And he's lining up the shot, there he goes, and – blocked by Monkleigh!"

"FUCK!" hollered Weasley.

There was an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin section of the stands. I turned to Potter and smiled triumphantly. "Hush," he said, jabbing me with his elbow.

"And we have Slytherin in possession now, with Burke passing the Quaffle to Dobbs – but, oi, there's a bludger! He's dodged it, though, and he's passing the Quaffle back to Burke, but there's another bludger from Garcia! Gryffindor in possession."

I glanced at Potter, and found him to be perfectly absorbed, his body tense. His fist was clenched around the tasseled edge of his scarf.

"Gustafson's moving back toward the Slytherin goalposts," Daniel White announced. "He passes it to Finley, and Finley shoots. IT GOES THROUGH THE LEFT HOOP! GOAL FOR GRYFFINDOR! Ten points!"

The Weasleys shimmied happily in their seats, while Potter turned to me with mock concern. "Those aren't tears, are they?" His eyes danced behind his glasses, and his lips were chapped from the cold.

"Far from it," I scoffed.

Susan Bones leaned toward me patted my arm reassuringly. "I'll root for Slytherin with you. We can band together against this lot of Gryffindors."

"I appreciate it," I replied, smiling.

"Look." Potter nudged me suddenly. Following his gaze, I immediately caught a glint of gold at the edge of the pitch, close to the ground. I felt a surge of adrenaline. I hadn't played Seeker for years, but it never really left you. It was obviously the same for Potter.

He nodded eagerly. "They haven't spotted it."

"Not yet," I observed. Both Seekers were casually scanning the field, their postures relaxed as they guided their broomsticks in slow, sweeping circles. Of course, they wouldn't expect the Snitch to present itself so early in the game.

It occurred to me suddenly that, if either of them managed to notice and then catch the Snitch, the game would be over instantly. This game – this stretch of time spent next to Potter, the inches of bleachers separating our gloved hands. I willed the Snitch to slip away, unnoticed. I wasn't ready to let the moment pass.

"It's gone," Potter remarked, sounding satisfied.

I arched my brow. "They don't make Seekers like they used to."

Potter laughed appreciatively. "Who would have caught it, do you think, if it was us?"

"Me. Obviously."

"That is such a load of bollocks." Potter shook his head, grinning.

"And another block by Monkleigh!" Daniel White announced, over general uproar, "Gryffindor's having a hard time breaking through Slytherin's defenses!"

I caught a glimpse of Potter's profile: the pink of his ear, his disgruntled expression. Gryffindor is breaking through a lot better than it realizes, I thought.

* * *

Author's note: I love you guys. Get ready - you'll like December.


	5. December

Thank you thank you to all of you readers. You are all so wonderful. Hugs to DrarryJohnlock18, and sorry I wasn't able to get this up yesterday. Enjoy!

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_by Neverbird_

December

* * *

Whether due to Madame Weasley's uncanny persuasiveness or the pull of adolescent hormones, by early December, all of Hogwarts had flipped with excitement over the Yule Ball. Committees were assembled and planning meetings were prioritized above all else – certainly, the students seemed to feel entitled to skip their core classes. Nowadays, it seemed that Harry was always telling someone off for skipping Defense Against the Dark Arts without permission, and he knew that Draco had already complained twice to McGonagall.

The students who bothered to show up to class were hardly more present than the ones who skived. Harry's carefully planned lesson on dark objects was merely a backdrop to the varied machinations of fourth-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs looking to acquire or deflect potential dance partners. Ten minutes into Thursday's lesson, he had already confiscated his second passed note.

"Rhys, will u go 2 dance with me? Check yes or no!" it said, "From Bronwyn!"

Harry sighed heavily. "That's five points each from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Next note I see will be ten, plus detention." He crumpled the paper and levitated it to the bin. "He checked yes," Harry added, grudgingly, as he passed Bronwyn's desk. She covered her face, beaming.

After an hour's lecture, Harry felt certain that his fourth years would fail to recognize a dark object if Voldemort himself had signed it in blood. "Dismissed," he groaned, wondering how he would survive the two weeks until the holiday break. Laughter and shrieking resounded as belongings were gathered, and the students left to enjoy the evening.

Felix Dobbs seemed to linger quite deliberately, drumming listlessly atop his desk. "All right, Felix?" asked Harry, when the last of the others had departed.

Felix sighed theatrically and made a show of pushing his fringe out of his eyes. "I don't know, Professor P. I kinda don't think you would understand."

"Try me." Harry hoisted himself onto a desk a row ahead, facing him.

Felix regarded him dubiously. "You've never been turned down by a girl."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I haven't?"

"No way. The famous Harry Potter?"

"Yule Ball, fourth year."

"Sheesh. Must have been some girl."

Harry chuckled. "Not really."

"This girl is," Felix sighed.

"Tough break, then. She's already partnered with another bloke?"

"No. I don't know – don't think so. Wouldn't matter either way, 'cause she hates me."

"I doubt that." Harry encouraged.

Felix looked despondent. "No, really. She hates my guts." His eyes flicked briefly to Harry as he muttered, "It's Ellie."

"Ellie Cattermole?" Harry countered, eyebrows raised. "Felix, you're really mean to her."

"Because I like her and she hates me!" Felix insisted. He had gone bright red in the face, and his fringe was back in his eyes. "And I didn't want her to know."

Something in this statement made Harry's heart accelerate, though he couldn't fathom the reason for it. It was baffling, but all of the sudden, he found himself thinking about –

"Oh, hi Professor Malfoy. What's up?" said Felix. Harry nearly choked.

"Anyway, thanks for listening, Professor P." Sliding off the desk, Felix gathered his belongings and, with a nod to his Potions professor, shuffled out of the classroom.

* * *

"I can barely tempt them to show up for my class," I remarked, watching from the doorway as Potter put his classroom back in order, "While you have them staying after for more."

Potter didn't look up, but a slight smile creased his cheeks as he arranged a pile of parchment by hand. He seemed oddly flustered, and uncharacteristically concerned about the tidiness of his pile. I watched his efforts for a moment, before casually flicking my wand in his direction. The papers in his hands arranged themselves at once, their edges ruler straight.

"Thanks," Potter murmured, catching my eye at last. I nodded. "What are you doing here?" he asked, finally.

"McGonagall owled in a favor," I replied. "Evidently there's a planning committee meeting happening in the Great Hall, and it's expected to get a bit contentious. She wanted me to step in and keep things civil. Thought I'd see if you wanted to join me."

"That's so thoughtful of you." Potter smiled wryly. "I love Yule Ball drama."

"I know you do. It's just so lucky we're on call tonight."

"Isn't it?" Potter replied. "And maybe we can help the committee make sure the night is extra, extra romantic. I just don't think there's enough snogging among the students, you know?"

"Not nearly enough," I agreed. "And not enough during class, especially." Potter looked up at me, and we exchanged smiles.

"So, yeah, I'm done in here," he declared. "Should we move along to the Great Hall?"

"After you, Potter," I replied.

He looked at me strangely. "Potter?" he repeated, sounding irritated.

"Harry," I corrected, tentatively, and my heart pounded.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Hey Harry,

Thanks for the invite. I'm sorry to say that I won't be able to make it – looks like I'm needed at the Burrow to help with little Molly. Have a great party, and I'll see you at Christmas!

Best,

Ginny

_Gin,_

_Everything okay? Harry mentioned you weren't coming on Saturday._

_-H_

Hermione,

I'm fine – just need some space, I guess, and anyway, Mum will be glad to have me early. I'll be totally fine by the time I see him at Christmas, I promise. It's just that I expect Draco will be at this one, and I'm not in the mood to watch that unfold. Happy for Harry, obviously, but just need some time to get used to it. Are we still on for Sunday?

Love,

Ginny

_Ginny,_

_I'll take your word for it, but are you sure there's something going on there? With Draco? I wouldn't worry too much – I really haven't heard anything about it. Take care of yourself, okay, and I'll see you on Sunday!_

_-Hermione_

H,

Definitely something going on, whether Harry realizes yet or not. I'd put galleons on it. I'm really fine, though, and already looking forward to future laughs with Harry over tea about how I knew he was gay before he did.

-G

* * *

"It's you. Thank Merlin." Harry swung the door open, smiling gratefully. "Just in time."

Draco, stepping across the threshold, observed with raised eyebrows Harry's buttered hands and flour-streaked jawline. He seemed at a loss for words.

"Your owl," he said finally, "Was so persistent. I thought you might be dying."

"Oh," Harry reassured, "I'm fine." There was a layer of flour on his glasses that made everything a bit hazy. "_Scourgify_," he murmured, pointing the wand toward his lenses. "Much better," he remarked, noting with satisfaction that he could now make out the soft angle of Draco's jawline and the fringe of white-blond eyelashes that framed his gray eyes.

"So, your emergency?" prompted Draco.

"Right!" Harry agreed, with a start, cheeks coloring. It was probably time to move along from grinning at Draco in the entryway. "It's a baking emergency," he explained. "I've got to make Christmas cookies for my party, and it's, um," he grimaced, "It isn't going well."

Harry stepped aside, allowing Draco a long look into his kitchen. Draco took it in silently – the bag of flour overturned, meeting a pool of egg whites in a sticky shoreline; a soft wad of stepped upon butter dressing the floor in front of the oven; and the charred remains of Harry's first attempt holding firmly to the cookie sheet. A pair of gingerbread man-shaped cookie cutters had somehow become animated, and were battling brutally with Harry's kitchen knives.

"Not going well," Draco confirmed, nodding calmly. Harry smiled nervously.

"Have you ever baked before" Draco asked, after a moment.

"Oh, you know," Harry began vaguely. Draco regarded him levelly with cool, gray eyes.

"Never," Harry admitted, feeling a bit sheepish.

Draco shook his head, but Harry almost definitely saw a ghost of a smile tug his lips. "First, we've got to take care of the mess." Draco surveyed the madness once more. "Just scourgify all of it. We'll do it bit by bit."

It was a surprisingly quick job for two wands, and Harry soon found his kitchen was quite a bit cleaner than before he had begun the baking project. "Now what?" he asked, tentatively, eyeing the oven with trepidation. "Do you know how to do this?"

"Well, my specialty is Potions," he replied, "So, yes, Potter, I can cook."

"It's Harry."

"Harry," amended Draco. "Sorry."

Half an hour later, a promising first batch had made it to the oven, beers were uncapped, and Harry and Draco had settled in at the dining room table to wait for them to bake. "Really, thank you," Harry murmured, feeling at last that disaster had been averted, "Don't know what I would have done."

Draco flashed a smirk, and for the first time, Harry noticed the faintest dimple in his cheek. "It's nothing," Draco remarked, "Really, it's refreshing to see you fail at something."

"You don't think I ever fail?" Harry asked.

"At what? Most preferred teacher, most decorated auror in history. Saved humanity." Draco shrugged. "Disaster at baking, though, so there you go."

Harry leaned into his palm, his elbow on the table. "The awards were all for killing Voldemort – every one of them. It had nothing to do with me as an actual auror."

"Why did you leave the aurors, anyway?"

"I guess – it had gotten boring. That sounds really bad, sorry." Harry shook his head. "It isn't that I wanted more flare-ups with Death Eaters. But I never wanted a desk job."

"No, I get it." Draco nodded.

"Why did you leave the laboratory?" Harry asked, quickly. He felt strangely nervous, as he sometimes did around Draco. He could never pinpoint why.

Draco appeared thoughtful. "I suppose it was just the right moment to transition. We had finished testing the Homogamete Philter, and it was in production. Slughorn had retired. It just seemed like the time."

"Does it really work? The Philter?"

"It did in our trials. Not for everyone, but most," said Draco.

Harry's mind was caught on a single question, but he didn't want to ask it, because he and Draco never really talked about anything personal. Strangely, they did, in a way, when they were schoolmates and enemies, and didn't care if the other was vexed. But they were friends now, and Harry perceived something fragile about the friendship. He was determined not to ruin it.

To that end, Harry endeavored to keep things light and humorous between them. He always seemed to be bursting forth with comments about the students snogging. The harder he tried to shut up about it, the more remarks slipped out. Draco probably thought he was obsessed with snogging, which was too mortifying to contemplate. After all, Harry was twenty-three. He should be obsessed with sex.

"Draco, are you gay?"

Harry couldn't believe he had asked it until the words had already leapt from his mouth. "You don't have to answer that," he added quickly. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I was just thinking about you getting involved in the Philter project. I'm sorry," he repeated, face burning.

But it wasn't only Draco's involvement in the Homogamete Philter. Harry hadn't forgotten about the morning of graduation.

Draco's gray eyes were impassive. "Well," he said, calmly, "Yes." And there again, just for a moment, was the intriguingly shallow, barely perceptible dimple.

Suddenly, Harry was acutely aware of Draco's breathing and his own.

"Really?" he asked, after a moment.

Draco didn't reply, but he bit his lip slightly, and Harry wondered in amazement if the unflappable Draco Malfoy was actually nervous.

"That's really, you know…" Harry wanted to say something nonchalant and casual to show he was cool and unfazed. Of course, Harry never seemed to know the thing to say in these types of moments. Whatever type of moment this was.

He was saved by the ding of the timer, allowing him to jump up abruptly and make his jittery escape to the kitchen. The first batch had cooked perfectly, and Harry reached into the oven to remove them.

"Fuck – ow!" he yelped, withdrawing his hand hastily. "Stupid," he chided himself under his breath, glaring at his reddening fingertips.

Draco was beside him at once. "Run it under cold water. Do you have any Essence of Myrtlap?"

"I don't think so…" Harry said uncertainly.

"I'll come up with something." He opened Harry's cabinet and began rifling through his spices and ingredients, putting several bottles and jars aside on the counter.

"Any potions supplies?"

"Just, you know, the basic things." Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. "Probably in the back of the cupboard." Draco summoned them down with a snap of his wand.

"You really know what you're doing," Harry commented, cradling his wounded hand and watching Draco's efforts with interest. Draco looked up at him, frowning.

Suddenly, Draco's smooth hand was around Harry's wrist, pulling him toward the sink; moments later, Harry felt the cool relief of water against his burned fingertips. "It helps," Harry admitted.

"Yes, I know," sighed Draco, returning to examine the labels of his bottles. Improvising for a cauldron with a pot over the stove, he combined several ingredients together with a wooden spoon. He cooled the mixture with his wand and carried it to Harry at the sink.

"Can I have your hand?" he prompted.

Harry switched off the faucet and surrendered his hand to Draco, who turned it palm up and studied it carefully. Draco dipped his free hand in his impromptu potion and rubbed it carefully into Harry's fingertips. A deep cooling feeling penetrated Harry's skin, and the burn's throbbing seemed to fade. He looked up at Draco with surprise, watching him work. Strands of his white-blond hair had slipped in front of his eyes, and Draco used the heel of his hand to push them mindlessly aside.

Suddenly, Draco's gray eyes were peering directly into his own, and Harry realized with a start that only inches of space separated their lips. There was an odd, pleasant twinge in Harry's abdomen. It was impossible, of course, but it felt like Draco might actually lean in and kiss him. Even stranger was the fact that Harry felt he sort of wouldn't mind if Draco did. It wasn't that Harry was gay. It was just that the thought of Draco wanting him made him sort of wobbly and giddy inside. Draco, who had hated him once, and who was so reserved and elusive even now.

"Well, that should do it," Draco said, suddenly, his voice oddly gruff. He cleared his throat and Harry found that he had been released. For a moment, he could only manage to stare at his hand, flexing his fingers and rubbing the tips together lightly. The pain had left them entirely.

"Thanks," he said quietly, feeling disappointed and also embarrassed. Harry had obviously gone completely mental for thinking Draco might have kissed him. Was that all it took, really? Within minutes of finding out that Draco was gay, Harry had already constructed a warped fantasy that Draco fancied him.

"Do you want another beer?" Harry asked loudly, determined to act as if all was normal.

"I'm all right. I think I'll get the second batch ready for the oven."

The cookies. Harry had forgotten about them as well.

* * *

By the time I returned to Harry's flat that evening, the space had been transformed with popcorn strings and Christmas lights, hung haphazardly but appealingly from wall to wall. Already, the living room was buzzing with conversation. Hagrid descended upon me right away, impressively well-liquored for six in the evening. "Yer here! I was just thinkin' teh Neville about whether ye'd show up. Thought it migh' be too Gryffindor for yeh." He laughed heartily and thumped me on the back, and I wondered what he would possibly think if he knew I was arriving at Harry's flat for the second time today.

There was a lively, chaotic sort of energy in the room that was, in fact, uniquely Gryffindor. Muggle Christmas songs carried in the background, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clink of glasses. Fleur Weasley looked as relaxed as I'd ever seen her, kneeling in front of the Christmas tree, handing bulbs and ornaments to Victoire and Teddy Lupin. With their combined efforts, the bottom half of the tree was now densely decorated, while the top half remained bare. The effect was strangely charming. I peered self-consciously around the room. Surely, it was obvious that I was looking for Harry, but I felt in that moment that I was incapable of subtlety.

I spotted him near the doorway to the kitchen, and watched him for a moment as he chatted with Hermione. Calm and freshly showered, he looked like quite a different Harry than the wild-eyed, flour-spotted version I had left behind hours earlier. His attire was Muggle, but that was the trend. He wore denim trousers and a checkered blue and green shirt underneath a navy jumper. I was struck with the impression that the skin underneath his layers of clothing would be warm to the touch. He looked up, noticing me at last.

He excused himself from Hermione and came to greet me straightaway. There was a strange moment when my eyes met Hermione's over his shoulder. She cocked her head and smiled in a way that suggested something significant, but I wasn't sure what she meant. When Harry walked toward me, he had a funny, self-conscious expression on his face.

"Draco," he greeted, smiling almost sheepishly.

"This is very impressive," I complimented, gesturing at the living room behind him.

He grinned. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Actually, are there any holiday biscuits? I've heard you're a wonderful baker." He smacked me in the arm, and I laughed, feeling quite giddy.

Harry pulled a face at me. "_Accio_ cookie," he commanded, and when the cookie landed in his hand, he stuffed it forcefully into my mouth. I perceived Hermione and various Weasleys taking note of this development with interest and amusement.

I took my time chewing and swallowing, putting my finger gingerly to my mouth to brush away stray crystals of sugar. "Very good," I commented mildly.

Harry regarded me, smiling and shaking his head. He opened his mouth to say something, but was whisked away quite suddenly by George Weasley, who was evidently attempting an escape from his generously breasted girlfriend. Harry glanced back at me over his shoulder and shrugged apologetically.

The rest of the evening passed in a merry blur. In one moment, I was an audience for Hagrid's semi-coherent inebriated ramblings, and then I was packed tightly on the couch between Susan Bones and Hermione Granger. Teddy and Victoire, increasingly hyperactive as the clock ticked past their bedtimes, delivered glass after glass of unfortunate combinations of juices and Muggle fizzy drinks, begging me to taste them.

It was completely fascinating. It felt almost like research, a naturalistic observation of the messy, sparkling social lives of Gryffindors. How different this was from my parents' elegant dinner parties, from the sedate reunions over tea with my former Slytherin housemates.

But I liked it. I liked the feeling of too many people in a small flat and the competing sounds of chatter and music. Surprisingly, I liked the physicality of it – people hugging and leaning into each other on the sofa; Teddy falling asleep at last with his head in my lap. Most of all, I liked glancing up to catch Harry watching me with a mix of curiosity, shyness, and warmth.

In all the years I had loved Harry Potter, I had never allowed myself to truly imagine a scenario in which that love was reciprocated. There were fantasies, of course; they couldn't be helped. But I cut them off every time, never letting them unfold in my imagination. The thought of anything happening between us was so far out of the realm of possibility that it was embarrassing and painful to contemplate.

Now, though. I made it through the party. Hermione and Susan hugged me goodbye, and the assorted Weasleys in attendance clapped me on the back to send me off. When I said goodbye to Harry, his hand reached for mine in a gesture that started as a high five, but lingered a moment longer than it should have. "See you Monday," he said, as I regained my ability to breathe.

The moment the door shut behind me, I was overtaken. I must have walked down the corridor, must have passed Neville's door and gone through the archway. I must have crossed the courtyard, because I arrived without incident at my own flat.

It was impossible to explain. My mind was exploding. I pictured Harry taking my cheeks in his hands and kissing me without warning. Pinning me against a wall. Against the sofa. Kissing my neck, hands sliding under my shirt, curving over my shoulders. The bones of our hips meeting softly. I could barely open the door to my flat, could barely keep my wand in my hand.

"Lumos," I murmured. I lay my coat across the back of the sofa, my mind still full of Harry, my imagination lit. The air felt thick with his presence, so vivid and uncensored in my thoughts after years of pushing him away. Harry, pressed against me against the wall of my classroom. Harry's broomstick-calloused hands against my skin. It was the most wonderful and terrifying type of make-believe. How strange and electrifying and dangerous to have, at last, a shred of hope.

I retreated to the lavatory, needless to say.

* * *

"You ever reckon you'd have to go to another one of these?" asked Ron from the sofa, as Harry adjusted the collar of his robes in the mirror. "Better you than me. Sweet robes, though," he added, wickedly.

"You came all the way out here," Harry mused, "Missing family dinner, just to take the piss?" He pulled a face at Ron in the mirror.

"They won't start dinner without me," Ron objected, yawning contentedly.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was honestly quite grateful for Ron's company, and Ron knew it. Truth be told, Harry was feeling a bit lukewarm about the Yule Ball, now that Draco and Neville weren't going. It would be nice to see Hagrid, of course, and seeing his students in dress robes would be interesting. Surely, someone would do something noteworthy or embarrassing, and Harry supposed it was nice to imagine telling the story to Draco after the fact.

Still, though, the night already felt like a bit of a waste. Behind Harry, Ron chuckled.

"Oh, hush," said Harry. "It's not that bad."

"Wasn't bad ten years ago," Ron objected merrily.

"Nine years ago. And they still fit, don't they?" He shrugged. "Not worth buying a new set." Harry adjusted the collar, looking at himself appraisingly.

"You don't look a day older than fourteen, dear," the mirror said encouragingly. Harry scowled, and Ron burst out laughing.

"That will do," Harry proclaimed, loudly, "And I'm off."

"Good, because I'm hungry. Have a magical evening, my dapper friend," bid Ron, bowing grandly before disapparating.

Harry checked himself in the mirror once more, sighed, and stepped into the chill of the corridor.

The snow had started falling that morning, and it was coming down steadily now, piling thickly on the ground and on the gates. Harry cast a quick shield charm on his spectacles and flipped up the collar of his coat; he hadn't bothered with a scarf. It had gotten quite dark already somehow, and the walk toward Hogwarts filled Harry with an inexplicable kind of yearning. Everything around him was quiet and still.

He hadn't brought his broomstick, knowing that Fleur had arranged for small boats to move throughout the lake, to be used both for transport and for romantic rides. The lake, as it turned out, had frozen over, but the boats slid across the ice like skates. One promptly came to the shore to fetch him and carry him across.

Ducking gratefully into the warmth of the castle's atrium, Harry made his way toward the Transfiguration classroom, where the chaperones were meeting to await final instructions from Fleur. Students shuffled through the corridors, meeting up with friends and partners from other houses. They waved and called to Harry with enthusiasm, delighted to see him in dress robes, and excited to show off their own attire.

There was a palpable current of excited energy, a kind of stomach-turning, electrifying self-consciousness that Harry remembered all too well. Maybe Harry hadn't appreciated his own fourth-year Yule Ball, but he knew what it was like to float down a corridor feeling as though he would combust with longing.

Only a handful of teachers had stayed on to chaperone – Harry, Fleur, Hagrid, Vector, and, surprisingly, Trelawney. Fleur, stunning as ever in spangled blue robes, shook out her hair haughtily and sighed. "I 'ave been informed that Rolanda shall not make it this evening –"

The door creaked open suddenly, and a slim figure in gray robes edged inside. "Hi," he murmured, lifting one hand in a quick, self-conscious wave. Harry's stomach flipped, and he was instantly aware of his accelerating heartbeat. Draco, slipping in next to him, flashed him a brief, sideways smile.

"Well," Fleur continued, sounding appeased, "I am happy to see you, yes, Draco, and I believe we shall now have sufficient staff."

Harry shot him a questioning, sidelong glance; Draco, catching his eye briefly, smiled and shrugged before turning back to Fleur.

"Are we to be passive voyeurs this evening, never intervening in crucial moments? Mais non," she shook her head firmly, "We shall require our students to meet ze proper standards of decorum. Will we be allowing for the consumption of alcohol?"

"Righ', speakin' of that," Hagrid beamed and winked at Harry in particular. "Jus' see me, and I'll take care of yeh."

"Professor 'Agrid, please be appropriate," Fleur replied sharply, shaking her head. "No, we shall _not_ allow for consumption of alcohol among ze students, and any student observed engaging in such behavior shall return promptly to the dormitories. Also, there shall be no students kissing."

"Oh dear," remarked Septima Vector, "We can try."

Harry couldn't help but snort, and he perceived Draco glancing at him briefly. Turning toward him, Harry saw that he was biting back a smile.

"Shield charms shall be used to separate students who are observed embracing or dancing in a, how does one say, loving, sexual manner."

"Oh wow," murmured Harry, grinning.

* * *

"I still can't believe you're here," Harry said, falling into step beside Draco in the corridor.

Draco turned his head away, smiling slightly. "My parents could spare me for the night, as it turned out." He brushed an invisible speck of dust off the front of his gray robes. Harry couldn't stop grinning.

When they stepped into the Great Hall, Harry was struck with an overall impression of gleaming whiteness. Trees had been brought indoors and encircled with white lights, and the tablecloths sparkled like snow. The floor caught the light in twinkling refractions, as though crystals had been imbedded into the wood. Opulent arrangements of pastel flowers lined the tables in silver vases. The décor had supposedly been selected by the students, but Fleur's influence was everywhere.

"Very romantic for the Great Hall," observed Harry.

Draco nodded. "And yet we're expected to blast students with shield charms if they step too close to each other."

Harry laughed. "I love Operation Shield Charm."

"Of course you do."

Harry was the first to notice the photos; lining every wall, enlarged to unnatural sizes in artistic black and white were snapshots from previous Yule balls. The ones from decades past were interesting: grainy moving portraits of students dancing stiffly in dated dress robes. The photos from Harry's own Yule Ball, on the other hand, were mortifying beyond contemplation.

"Oh, sweet Salazar," muttered Draco, cringing at a photo of himself sneering in high-necked dress robes. "What was I wearing?"

"At least you aren't wearing the same ones now," replied Harry in a horror-struck whisper, finally realizing that Ron may have had a point after all.

There were so many phenomenally bad photos of Harry. Only Fleur was better represented, though, strangely, hers were all well-lit and flattering. Harry's pictures managed to capture every awkward expression and gesture in the human repertoire: tripping during the champions' opening dance, neglecting Parvati Patil in favor of sulking with Ron, and an especially prominent one of him sneakily picking his underpants out of his bum.

"And the students will be arriving in, what, five minutes?" sighed Harry, closing his eyes briefly, "This will really help me command respect."

"The ones from the planning committees have already seen them, I'm sure," Draco reminded him, helpfully. Harry groaned.

Minutes later, the doors to the Great Hall opened again, and the students arrived in waves. As the band tuned their instruments, there was time for the girls to hug and admire each other, while the boys descended upon the food table immediately. Harry watched them with a mix of amusement and nostalgia. The boys, in particular, were painfully stiff and self-conscious in their newly-purchased dress robes; they all tugged uncomfortably at their collars and seemed to find the fabric relentlessly itchy. It struck Harry that his students were barely accustomed to robes at all, other than their school uniforms, since the trend had swung so strongly toward Muggle attire.

"Should we set up camp near the dance floor?" Harry suggested, turning to Draco, "Out of the range of bodily fluids, but in range for shield charms?" There was a pair of velvet chairs facing the band that seemed like the perfect vantage point.

"Absolutely," agreed Draco, nodding.

"If you save me a seat, I'll get us some of Hagrid's punch."

As he waited for Hagrid to uncap the various small bottles he had produced from his robes, Harry stole a glance at Draco from across the Hall. It was amazing to recall that the last time Harry had seen Draco in dress robes, they had considered themselves enemies. He felt such warmth now when he looked at him: Draco's elegant posture, his stillness, his self-contained restraint.

Harry returned with his spoils and handed a glass to Draco, who thanked him. "Cheers," Harry said, clinking their glasses together and taking a generous sip.

"Merlin's beard," he gulped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's _strong_."

"Is it?" asked Draco, calmly taking a sip from his own glass.

"Oh hush," Harry said with a mix of admiration and frustration.

Draco glanced sidelong at Harry, smiling quietly.

The band was playing a fast song that Harry didn't recognize, and the dance floor was packed with students dancing in a tight crowd. "They're not bad," Harry commented, nodding toward the band. "Who are they again?"

"Pauly and the Juiceheads? Something like that. They're American."

"Never heard of them," replied Harry, shrugging. "But I like them. Thought they would end up using Celestine Warbeck."

"Evidently, Miranda vetoed it."

"Ah, right. Wouldn't want her mum to see her doing that," Harry noted, gesturing toward the dance floor, where Aiden Chapman appeared molded along Miranda's backside. Catching Miranda's eye, Harry grinned and raised his wand aloft threateningly, mouthing, "Protego." Miranda unmolded herself with haste, murmuring something to Aiden, who glanced guiltily at Harry.

"I'm enjoying this way too much," Harry reflected happily.

Privately, he realized that this was alarmingly true: he was enjoying this, all of this, too much, and the reason why wasn't lost on him. He liked the music and he liked his strong, punchy drink, but it was Draco's surprise appearance that had made him nearly giddy. Harry felt in that moment that nowhere in the world would be better than the velvet chair he occupied now, in the beautifully decorated Great Hall with his beautiful friend Draco sitting beside him. It wasn't something he was willing to analyze, but he wasn't in the mood to fight it either. There were still hours and hours until the night would end, and Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt so perfectly, electrically content.

As the band switched to slower dances, the crowds abandoned the dance floor, leaving only the couples to carry on. Harry enjoyed watching the third years especially; they looked everywhere but at each other, and always managed to leave enough space between them to accommodate a mid-sized erumpent.

"Maybe I've blocked it, but were we that bad? Were we thatterrified of girls?" Harry wondered aloud, sipping his drink heartily.

Draco's flash of a dimple appeared. "Of girls? No." He glanced sidelong at Harry. "I wasn't."

Harry blushed furiously. "Oh, because you're – _yeah_. I'm stupid."

"No, no, you're not." Draco replied, his gray eyes suddenly soft.

"Professor Potter?" interjected a squeaky voice, startling them both. Harry looked up to see one of his Gryffindor fourth-years standing before him, blushing madly.

"What can I do for you, Cassie?"

"Would you like to dance with me?" she asked quickly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry perceived Draco's body tense with suppressed laughter.

"Oh, um." Harry blinked. "Erm. I appreciate the offer, but I – you know that wouldn't be appropriate, Cassie," he managed.

"Oh, okay," Cassie replied glumly, slinking back to the dance floor.

"Another broken heart," Draco observed.

"Oh, hush."

The lights dimmed as the night carried on. Harry and Draco didn't leave their chairs, apart from occasional trips to the toilet or in search of Hagrid to refresh their drinks. The students, thus far, had shown just enough discretion to avoid being redirected via shield charm, but they put on a good show nonetheless.

As it turned out, quite a few of the girls were so bold as to ask Professor Potter for the honor of a dance, which elicited blushing and stammering from Harry every time. "Popular tonight, aren't you?" remarked Draco, after two in a row had been gently rebuffed.

In fact, to Harry's immense gratitude, Draco had taken to answering on his behalf with a businesslike, "He's your teacher, so I'm afraid not."

"Do you think they're all taking the piss?" Harry muttered self-consciously.

"No, I think you're famous and young and fit, and they think this is their chance."

With that, Harry was mollified. Draco thought he was fit.

"Hi, professors," a voice greeted softly.

"Hi, Meredith," said Harry. "Having fun?"

"Oh, yes, I am! And, actually, I wanted to ask…"

"He can't, I'm sorry," Draco said, smiling kindly. "Teachers can't dance with students."

"Oh but –" she looked confused. "I meant to ask you," she said finally, her voice small. "I understand, though." She blushed heavily, eyes meeting Draco's momentarily before muttering goodbye. She made her way hastily toward Annaliese, Evan, and some of the other seventh-years.

"Look who's popular now," commented Harry. "Didn't stand a chance, did she?"

"Well, seeing as she's seventeen years old, my student, and also, you know…"

Female. Harry knew. "Who is your type, then?" he couldn't resist asking.

Draco looked down, smiling faintly and shaking his head. "I'm not answering that right now.

"Very mysterious, Draco," Harry said, shaking his head. He took another sip of punch and glanced at Draco sideways. Draco was looking at him, his fist against his mouth, his expression inscrutable, and Harry's heart pounded wildly.

The lights grew dimmer, as the evening drew on, and eventually only the hardiest couples remained on the dance floor.

"Are you apparating back to France after this?" Harry asked, yawning.

"Tomorrow," replied Draco, "Staying in the flat tonight."

Harry beamed. "We can walk back together, then."

They were released by Fleur after the students had made their way back to the dormitories. Stepping out into the night air, the sky was silky black, but the snow reflected moonlight. Draco shivered slightly, burying his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Is it that cold?" asked Harry.

"Are you that drunk?" Draco countered, lips chattering.

Harry laughed. "I'm not very drunk. Only slightly. See?" There was a narrow path cleared in the snow for walking, and Harry made a show of navigating it in a perfect straight line.

"Okay, I believe you. Surprisingly sober."

"You," Harry replied, smiling smugly, "Are always cold." He bumped against him from the side, and was delighted when Draco bumped him back. Draco Malfoy being playful was thrillingly strange, but Harry thought he could get used to it.

They came upon the lake, and were promptly greeted by one of Fleur's little boats, coming to a halt parallel to the shore so they could step aboard. Harry hoisted himself inside, the boat automatically correcting for his weight as he stepped down. He reached out to Draco, who took his hand gingerly, and stepped gracefully over the ice to settle in beside him. It was a tight fit for two, but Harry felt, strangely, that they couldn't be close enough. He noticed that Draco had stopped shivering. The boat carried them slowly across the ice, depositing them at the opposite shore, where the path continued to the flats.

Silence prevailed as they walked the rest of the way; it felt charged and awkward in one moment, but perfectly comfortable in the next. They crossed through the archway of Little Hogwarts, and Harry found himself following quite deliberately down the side of the split path that led to Draco's flat, rather than his own.

* * *

My heart was in my throat for the entire distance to my door. If I spoke or even breathed too loudly, I felt sure that Harry would realize we had passed the fork in the path where we should have said goodbye. I didn't want him to realize. I didn't know what it meant that he had followed me down my corridor, but I wanted very badly for him to keep following.

"_Alohamora_,_" _I said, tapping wand to door, and my voice sounded gruff and awkward. As the door nudged open, I turned at last to look at Potter. He stood before me with his head cocked slightly sideways; his sheepish half smile quite at odds with his level green gaze. I paused, at a complete loss for what to say.

"Did you know I've never been inside your flat before?" Harry observed, after a moment. I looked at him and smiled. I felt such a wave of dumb, pure, hopeful joy.

"You should come in," I managed, and silently congratulated myself for sounding, at the very least, coherent. I held the door for him to follow me inside. "_Lumos_," I murmured. "This is it. Same as yours and Neville's, pretty much."

"When were you at Neville's flat?" he asked sharply, his eyes wide with disgruntled curiosity.

I laughed. "Are you jealous?"

"A little," replied Harry, smiling slightly. "This is nice," he added, before I could begin to respond. "Very tidy. Did you know I was coming?"

What a question. I had wanted this, of course, but when it came to Harry, there had always been a gulf between my wants and expectations. Never would I have imagined that I'd find him here tonight.

"I don't think I have anything to offer you to drink but water," I apologized, "I cleared everything out before I left for France."

"I'm not even thirsty," replied Harry. "Can I sit?" He sunk into the sofa, and I settled in cross-legged beside him. He leaned his head back, smiling at me. "I like it here."

"Good," I said, uncertainly, heart pounding.

"Good," he repeated, turning his head and nodding into the cushions. He sighed softly. "Oh, Draco."

Everything inside me was in knots. "Hmm?"

His green eyes seemed to focus briefly on my mouth, before shifting up again to meet my eyes. I touched my lips self-consciously, barely realizing my fingers had moved. The silence was almost deafening.

He leaned toward me just slightly and, almost casually, picked up my hand. I watched in bewilderment as he ran his thumb across my palm and then, turning my hand over gently, threaded his fingers carefully through mine. My breath hitched. I made myself look up at him.

He was watching me with gentle eyes and nervously drawn eyebrows. I felt a rush of sensations that seemed both new and familiar, universal and uniquely mine.

I reminded myself to breathe. Then, leaning forward, I did the very thing I meant to do one June morning five and a half years ago.

It was as if the world around me narrowed to include only Harry, only his scent and the pressure of his lips and the sweet taste of punch on his breath. Releasing my hand, he cupped my face and pulled me closer, his thumbs gliding gently across my cheekbones. I scooted my body closer on the sofa and leaned into him, letting my hands rest in the stiff fabric of his robes. My mind could barely compute that this was actually happening. I had loved Harry for half of my life, secretly and without hope, with such desperate futility at times that I was certain I hated him. How was it that I found him here now, lips moving against my own, close enough that I could feel his heartbeat?

He paused, drawing his face back slightly, his hands still cradling my cheeks. My eyes opened to look at him, and he smiled crookedly, bright-eyed and flushed. I smiled back, and he tapped his finger softly against my bottom lip. "This is so strange," he said, his voice thick, "You're Draco Malfoy."

"I know," I replied, nodding.

He laughed softly and sighed. "I've been thinking about this all night. Have you?"

I had been thinking about it since I was eleven. "I might have been," I said. I allowed my face to sink into the hollow of his neck, and I felt him shiver slightly against me. I kissed him softly just above the collar of his robes.

"Draco," he murmured, "Oh." I watched him swallow. "Can we…?" His voice was hoarse, and his fingers were tracing a circle around the top button of my robes.

I nodded. "Okay."

He nodded in reply, and I watched him carefully nudge the first button out of its hole.

"There's a hook behind it as well," I advised, slipping my hand into the fabric to release it.

He laughed softly. "Dress robes are the worst."

I looked up at him. "Yours are," I informed him, smiling.

"I know, I know." He grinned, looking down to appraise himself. "I'm just going to…"

"Yes, you should," I agreed. He beamed at me, unbuttoning his own robes almost haphazardly, while I slid my arms out of my own set and banished them to the coffee table. We regarded each other in our undershirts and dress trousers, smiling nervously.

"Better, right?" he asked, pausing. "Should we...?"

"Probably," I replied, "Yes." I leaned back carefully, and pulled him closer, allowing the weight of his body to settle over mine.

"Okay," he murmured, letting his hands rest on the cushions, framing my face. I circled my arms around his back and tugged at his undershirt until it untucked, sliding my hands up underneath it. The skin on his back was warm and smooth. He sighed and sank closer to me, resting his cheek momentarily against mine, his lips to my ear. "You are very surprising," he whispered. My eyes slid closed.

Kissing Harry was stranger and messier and more wonderful than I had imagined. His hands were everywhere: in my hair, along my arms, on my chest. He was heavy and sweaty, and his spectacles were constantly in the way. He laughed a lot, burying his face in the crook of my shoulder. He wasn't self-conscious at all.

"How many of our students do you think are doing the same thing we are right now, in the dormitories?" I reflected, upon surfacing for air.

Harry snickered. "All of them." He kissed me again. "Isn't it nice being an adult? No one tries to use a shield charm to separate you."

I nodded in agreement. "And you don't have an audience of four roommates."

"Or Peeves overhead, dropping dungbombs at critical moments."

"Or Professor Potter putting you on snog alert," I couldn't resist adding.

"Oh, shut it," he sighed, smiling into my shoulder. I hugged him closer. "What time is it?" he murmured, after a moment.

"I don't know," I replied. "Late, I think. Should we try to get some sleep?"

"I should walk back, huh?"

I looked at him. "You could stay."

He raised his eyebrows, biting back a smile.

"No, not _that_," I protested, "Just to sleep. I think I'm a little tired. Aren't you?" And suddenly I was – I felt sleepy and contented and ready to sink into bed.

"Okay," Harry replied, standing slowly and yawning. I stretched my legs out across the couch and rolled my shoulders. It took a moment for me to adjust to the absence of his weight on my chest. "Do you have an extra toothbrush?" he asked, "Actually, never mind. I'll just transfigure the end of my wand."

I laughed. "That's clever."

He smiled and shrugged. "That's spending months on the run with Hermione. She doesn't mess around about dental hygiene."

A few minutes later, we climbed into the opposite ends of my bed, which suddenly felt entirely too spacious. I watched Harry lean back against one of my pillows, arms folded behind his head and eyes soft and huge without his glasses. He sighed and smiled, turning his head sideways to face me, though I imagined I appeared to him as a blond blur. "What a night," he murmured. "Sleep well, okay?"

"You too," I said softly, and so happily. "_Nox_."

* * *

Author's note: THEY MADE OUT! In case you missed it. More to follow. :-)


	6. January

Oh man - I don't even know what to say to you readers. You are just wonderful. You make this so much fun. It is so cool of you guys to read and follow this story or give feedback, and I appreciate it so much. And Ranger, if you happen to check back in, please know that I take your feedback to heart, and I really appreciate you taking the time to comment. All of you get chocolate frogs from me.

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_By Neverbird_

January

* * *

"And – happy New Year!" concluded Ron, after the countdown had finished, leaning down to kiss his fiancée. "Last one til we're married."

"You said the same about Christmas," Hermione pointed out, grinning. She shook her head affectionately and took his hand. "Come on, I think everyone's watching the owls."

Harry, Neville, Ginny, and George were all gathered by the window, watching for the hundreds of owls that took flight every year in wizard-dense neighborhoods a few minutes after midnight. Hermione had only learned about this particular tradition last year, upon spending New Years at the Burrow. Actually, it was hardly a tradition at all – it was simply the regular post, with all the well wishes and greetings between family and friends you would expect on any holiday. New Years happened to be the holiday when the height of the celebration occurred in a single instant.

"Love that," sighed Ginny, watching a group soar eastward in a v-formation. "Never gets old."

There was a moment's lull, followed by the swelling noise of pounding wings as the first wave of incoming owls arrived. Ron, still perched eagerly by the window, excitedly announced the arrival of a pair of owls headed unmistakably toward their flat. Tipping the owls and sending them off, he carried the two brightly colored envelopes to the sofa.

"From Mum and Dad?" George remarked, noting the handwriting on the first envelope. "Wouldn't have figured they'd still be awake."

"They've turned hip in their old age," suggested Ron.

"Oh, far from it," countered Ginny. "They're not awake by choice. They're stuck minding Molly tonight."

"Percy and Audrey went out?" Ron looked skeptical.

"Who's the second one from?" asked Neville.

"Oh, right," said Ginny, attempting to grab it from Ron, who whisked it out of her reach. "Draco, I bet, right Harry?" She gave Harry a knowing glance.

"What?" Harry choked, blushing richly. Ginny and Hermione looked at each other briefly.

"Oh, it's to all of us from Susan," Ron revealed. "She says hello from Wales."

"I didn't know she was from Wales," mused Neville.

"No, she's on holiday with her family," Hermione replied. "And Draco's in France, right Harry?"

"I think so," Harry muttered. He stared blankly ahead for a spell, his posture straight and tense.

"All right, Harry?" asked Neville, after a moment.

"What?" Harry appeared startled. "Oh, yeah, fine. Probably should be heading out, though, I reckon." He made a big show of yawning. "Brunch tomorrow with Andromeda and Teddy."

"It's barely past midnight," protested George, but Harry shrugged and said his goodbyes.

"A bit off tonight, wasn't he?" observed Ron, gazing briefly at the door with mild concern.

* * *

"You're here!" Teddy exclaimed, catapulting down the stairs. "GRAN!" he bellowed, "Harry's arrived!" Harry took a stabilizing step backward in the nick of time, as his godson launched toward him at full force. Harry looked down to find a whirled mess of green hair nestled into his chest and a pair of legs encircling his waist.

"Happy New Year, Ted," he greeted, hoisting his godson over his shoulder and carrying him across the threshold. Teddy laughed, arms dangling helplessly.

Andromeda emerged from the kitchen looking disheveled, and Harry saw that the kitchen had gone a bit smoky.

"Anything I can help with?" Harry offered, uselessly, knowing that Andromeda was perfectly aware of his own limitations in the kitchen. Harry supposed that Teddy, between his gran and his godfather, had never known a meal in his life that was unaccompanied by smoke and chaos. It was disarming and also relieving to see such good-natured bumbling from someone who otherwise so closely resembled her sister Bellatrix; he had always thought Andromeda was so like Tonks in that way.

"How are you feeling?" Andromeda asked kindly. "I've got plain toast, mind, if you need it."

"No, no, I'm well, thanks," Harry replied, blushing. "Sorry about last time," he added sheepishly.

* * *

Last time, of course, had been Christmas Eve supper, when, hours after waking up in Draco Malfoy's bed, mind still whirling, he had been tasked with pulling off the calm, civilized family Christmas Eve meal. Certain basic functions had been quite beyond him at the time: eating, for example. Sorting together coherent strings of words.

After all, what could he say to Andromeda and Teddy about the surreal and wondrous moment of waking up to the scent of Draco's shampoo – a smell he'd never noticed before, but one that was, suddenly, achingly familiar? Draco's undershirt had ridden up, and Harry's arm had somehow flung its way across Draco's waist overnight, his fingertips finding the warm inch of skin between shirt and waistline of his trousers. The sheets had tangled around Harry's feet.

There had been a moment when time felt suspended; the hazy blue light of dawn edged through the blinds, reflecting off the snow. Draco had sighed in his sleep and leaned into Harry's touch, his pale eyelashes fluttering faintly. Harry felt nearly dumb with joy.

He had slipped back to sleep somehow, and when he woke up again, he found himself in bed alone. He sat up slowly, yawning, and put on his spectacles. There was the distant sound of a drawer closing, and the unmistakable smell of coffee. He followed the scent to the kitchen, where Draco was calmly seated in a chair, posture perfect as always, sipping peacefully from a mug. He was clean and dressed in casual trousers and a cotton shirt. A plate of muffins and pastries had been arranged in the center of the table.

"Morning," Harry had mumbled, scratching the back of his head and blushing. He felt acutely self-conscious in his undershirt and plaid knickers, but of course, the alternative was a nine-year-old set of dress robes.

Draco had smiled shyly and stood up to gather the coffee pot, handing Harry a mug of black coffee without fanfare. "I didn't have any food around, so I owled something in," he explained, gesturing to the array of pastries. He seemed a touch nervous, which intrigued Harry; in his months of renewed interaction with Draco, Harry had concluded that Draco was never unsettled by anything at all.

Harry found that he couldn't get down any breakfast, his stomach in knots as it was; he noticed Draco picking at the edges of his croissant as well. Harry had given some time to fretting over how he was going to preserve his dignity while crossing the courtyard in last night's clothes, before recalling that situations like these were what apparition was meant for. They had kissed goodbye briefly and awkwardly in the bright light of the entryway.

"I reckon we should talk about all of this, uh," Harry had said, uncertainly, "After you get back from France, then?"

Draco nodded. "I'd like that. I'll be back the weekend before classes begin."

"Then I'll see you that weekend," agreed Harry, smiling crookedly, "Happy Christmas, Draco." His gaze lingered, perhaps a moment too long, and a blush bloomed slowly across Draco's cheeks.

"Bye," Harry said at last, and it came out almost as a sigh.

* * *

"Harry, you want sausage _and_ bacon, right?" queried Teddy, jolting him briefly back to the present. Harry nodded distractedly, ruffling his green hair and thanking him. "HE WANTS BOTH!" Teddy hollered in the direction of the kitchen. "Want to see my broomstick?" he added eagerly, without missing a beat.

Harry followed Teddy to his bedroom, where Teddy charged into the closet and emerged holding his prized Cleansweep Junior Ultra 5000 - easily the most popular toy of the season among wizarding children, and notoriously difficult for parents to obtain. As a rule, Harry avoided using his celebrity status to any material advantage, but, in this case, he hadn't been able to resist. Teddy had been thrilled beyond measure at Christmas, and, according to his grandmother, had talked of little else in the week hence.

"I know how to fly," he informed Harry proudly, already mounting the shaft.

"Are you allowed to do that indoors?"

"Um," evaded Teddy. "Look!" He eased the broomstick in a wobbly circle around the perimeter of his bedroom, a few feet above ground, his hair rapidly changing colors in his excitement. "Harry, are you watching?" he asked, waving wildly from above, and nearly crashing into his dresser lamp. Sadly for Teddy, whose hero was his Quidditch-star godfather, he was truly the child of both his parents; and Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks had not possessed a single athletic gene between them.

Harry nevertheless praised his skills amply, and talked him into descending back to earth for brunch. "Did you see me almost go upside down?" Teddy asked enthusiastically. Harry had, and wasn't entirely sure that it had been intentional. "Brilliant, right Harry? Will you tell Draco?"

That was the other complication: evidently, both Teddy and Victoire had fallen hard for Draco at Harry's holiday party, and had been asking after him constantly ever since. The steady stream of Draco chatter hadn't been too unbearable at Christmas Eve supper; after all, Harry had been in such a bewildered, besotted haze at the time that it seemed only natural for Draco to be a central topic of conversation.

Christmas Day had, perhaps, been a bit harder to manage. He could hardly blame Victoire for her curiosity, but fielding her questions in front of the entire Weasley family felt like an exercise in both restraint and deception. At the time, he felt he had pulled it off quite well, but if New Years was any indication, Hermione and Ginny at the very least had come to suspect _something_. Harry had always been rubbish at hiding his feelings – except, he supposed, from himself.

As it stood now, Harry felt mostly capable of human interaction, which had to be worth something. He helped Andromeda set the table, and even rescued a plate of sausages that had slipped out of Teddy's hands; Harry's Seeker reflexes were in working order, anyway.

"How was the rest of your holiday, Harry?" Andromeda asked, settling into the chair beside Teddy, and nudging a small platter of slightly overdone eggs across to Harry.

"It was nice," Harry replied vaguely. "I, you know, I got to relax a bit. Spent some time at the Burrow." Actually, he now realized with a start, he had spent the last few days doing basically nothing at all.

"Molly must have been thrilled to have you," Andromeda noted, "And, can I ask, how is Ginny?" She cocked her head slightly, regarding him curiously.

"She's well," replied Harry. "Yeah, she's…" He wasn't sure what else to say, in fact.

"Well, good. And, of course, it should go without saying that she's welcome here anytime." Andromeda was peering at him over her spectacles with a significant sort of look, and Harry felt himself squirm. "Or anyone, of course. Just – anytime you want to bring a guest, don't hesitate."

"Okay," he replied, vaguely. "Thanks," he remembered to add.

"He should bring Draco!" enthused Teddy. "Right, Gran?"

"That's certainly fine," Andromeda said agreeably, "But perhaps Harry would want to bring a different sort of friend."

Harry tried to imagine himself remarking over brunch that Draco Malfoy was exactly the different sort of friend that Andromeda had in mind. Which meant that he, Harry, was gay, evidently. The thought alone made him want to implode on the spot.

"There aren't different sorts," Teddy informed his grandmother, sounding scandalized. "All friends are equal." Harry and Andromeda laughed. The Bloodline Equality Movement had been formalized at the end of the war, and was incorporated into all educational programs for children. Teddy was a child of his generation; he bristled at any implication of discrimination.

"That's true," Andromeda allowed. "What I should have said was that Harry may want to bring around a girlfriend one day."

"_Ooohhh,_" said Teddy, grinning at Harry.

In that moment, Harry realized that he would never be able to find the words to tell anyone about what had happened with Draco - not Teddy, Andromeda, the Weasleys, the gossip rags. Not anyone. It would have to be erased from history.

He felt terribly disappointed and terribly relieved, all at once.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Dear George:

Audrey, Molly, and I send our good tidings for the new year; I trust that your celebration was satisfactory, as was ours. Spending time with you over Christmas was a delight, and we're glad to have gotten the opportunity to meet your charming friend. As for the spot of confusion with Molly, I do hope you will pass along our most sincere apologies to Tilly. It would grieve me, truly, if Molly's error caused her even a moment's discomfort or embarrassment. It's true that our daughter can be quite single-minded when she is hungry. To be honest, this is the first time she has attempted such a maneuver on anyone besides her mother. I admit to feeling some awkwardness about the whole thing, and would be greatly relieved to hear that Tilly took no offense.

Fondly,

Percy

* * *

The students were predictably inattentive after the holiday.

"Mr. Gustafson," I repeated, "_Ahem_." At present, Martin Gustafson was occupied with tipping his chair back to impossible angles, catching himself at the last moment by urgently flicking his wand. He ignored me entirely.

"Five points from Gryffindor," I sighed. Martin looked up at me, his chair legs hitting the floor with a startled thud.

"For what?" he asked, with sincere confusion.

On days like these, I could never seem to remember why I had left my job at the clean, orderly laboratory full of sensible adults. Of course, I was especially edgy and impatient after the weekend. I had been utterly taken over by excitement and nerves, hardly able to eat or sleep in my eagerness to see Harry again. When the days ticked by without a word from him, my disappointment was palpable. I had been so certain that I would receive an owl or, better, a knock on the door. When we had departed company the morning after the dance, it had seemed a foregone conclusion.

Really, my sanity hinged on the thought that, though Harry had not made contact, neither had I reached out to him. I had hoped to see him at breakfast, but he hadn't appeared. He would have to be present for lunch; perhaps he would ask me why I hadn't owled. From there, possibly, we would commence a very acceptable routine of sneaking off at our breaks to snog or better in the bedrooms attached to our offices. I had spent quite a bit of time over the holiday reflecting on potential uses for those bedrooms.

The hours until lunch dragged interminably. When the final class of the morning had ended at last, it took all of my willpower to refrain from pushing past my students through the corridors. I managed to put my classroom back together, heart absolutely pounding with the anticipation of seeing Harry again. I arrived at the Great Hall in a flustered daze.

Neville was parked at our usual end of the table, chatting amiably with Rolanda Hooch. He lifted his hand to me and waved, and I crossed the Hall to join him. There was no way to take a seat facing the entrance without awkwardly loading one side of the table. The act of turning my back away from the door through which Harry would arrive was almost painful.

It was infinitely useful, in moments like these, to have the ability to carry on with polite conversation while privately allowing my mind to spin elsewhere. Were I to be quizzed later, I might even remember a detail or two about Neville's holiday drama: enchanted poinsettias gone rogue in the greenhouse. Mostly, though, my thoughts were traveling through time – pulled backward to memories of that extraordinary night after the dance, and projected forward in buzzing anticipation of our next meeting. It would have been better to see Harry in private, but at this point, I hardly cared.

* * *

Entering the Great Hall, Harry felt sick. He had stacked and re-stacked every parchment and quill in his classroom, trying desperately to delay the inevitable encounter with Draco as long as he could. He had already skipped breakfast, and longed to skip lunch as well, but it couldn't be put off indefinitely. He hadn't a clue how he would ever find the words to explain that, though all that had transpired had been real and true and genuine on Harry's part, it could never go further. And it had to stay secret.

Almost immediately, Harry spotted him sitting across from Neville at the end of the staff table, his back to the entrance. The sight of him – the paleness of his hair against green and silver stripes of wool – made his breath hitch. Harry's hands knew all about the nape of Draco's neck, smooth and warm, white-blond hair meeting soft, pale skin. He felt a rush of attraction and panic and confusion.

It was bewildering – his thoughts were all at odds with each other. When he looked at Draco, it was simply a matter of how soon he could pull him into a broomcloset. But then he pictured himself presenting Draco to Ron and Hermione, to all the Weasleys and Neville and Teddy and Andromeda and everyone as, what – his boyfriend? Harry Potter and his boyfriend. He could picture it now in Helvetica atop a photo of him and Draco snogging: "The Boy Who Lived Lives to Bugger Blokes." This headline, dangling from a hundred owls' beaks into this very Great Hall; the delighted murmurs of four houses of students united in their fascination with the most personal aspects of his personal life.

He was so, so tired of being talked about.

Squaring his shoulders, he crossed the Hall and took the seat beside Draco.

"Hi," he said, his voice sounding gruff and awkward. Draco turned toward him and returned the greeting, his face so perfectly neutral that it took Harry by surprise. Surely, the events of late December had been significant enough to elicit some sort of reaction in Draco, be it excitement, nervousness, or even regret. Was it possible that, while Harry had spent the holiday in a whirl of delight, agony, and confusion, Draco wasn't really bothered about it one way or another? Harry supposed it was a relief – he could just put an end to it all and maybe Draco wouldn't mind.

But – well. It wasn't a relief, not really. Honestly, Harry felt gutted.

"How was your holiday?" Draco asked calmly. His eyes were so disconcertingly gray, almost the color of storm clouds. Harry had always thought their color was so unusual.

A moment later, he realized both Draco and Neville were looking at him expectantly. "My holiday," he replied slowly, remembering the question, "It was nice. And yours?"

"Quite nice, thanks," Draco said.

"Mine, too," Neville agreed. "Good to be back, though."

After lunch had ended, Harry waited until Neville had gone off to the greenhouses before turning to Draco with his heart in his throat. "Can we - " he began, swallowing nervously, "Do you have a minute to talk?"

Draco obliged, and they ducked into a storage room. Harry shut the door hastily and cast the _Muffliato_ spell. Draco looked at him expectantly, his expression still maddeningly impassive.

"We should talk about what happened, right?" Harry began, haltingly, staring at his hands. "After the dance," he added.

"I remember," Draco replied, finally, with a small smile.

Harry bit back a smile of his own. "It was good, right?" he asked uncertainly.

Draco seemed to soften. "Yeah," he replied, "It was." Harry's stomach twisted pleasantly, and he battled a sudden impulse to take a step closer.

"I – I want you to know," Harry said, "That I don't regret – it was really…" He sighed. "I wanted it very much."

"But," prompted Draco, sensing Harry's hesitation. His tone was unimpeachably pleasant, but with a chilly, careful edge. Harry looked up at him miserably.

"I don't think I can do this. I'm so sorry." His throat felt thick. "It's just – I'm straight," he explained, clumsily.

"Oh, are you?" Draco asked levelly, though his eyes flashed.

"Yes," Harry snapped, "I am." He gazed back at Draco defiantly, but his irritation leaked away as suddenly as it had appeared. "I'm really sorry, Draco, I – the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you or, uh, give you the wrong impression."

"Okay," replied Draco, after a moment's pause.

Harry stopped short. "Okay?" he repeated, staring with confusion into Draco's blank, pale face.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Potter," Draco said at last. "Glad you've sorted it all out."

He looked at Harry, shrugged, and left him standing alone amidst the boxes.

* * *

"What are you working on?" asked Ron, settling onto the bed beside Hermione. He reached over to haul the massive orange weight of Crookshanks off his pillow, scooting backward and lowering the cat onto his lap. Crookshanks cracked his eyes open to shoot Ron a vengeful glance, before promptly resuming his sleep.

"Just stuff for the school," Hermione replied, yawning. She glanced down at her parchments before smiling back up at Ron. He reached his hand out to rub her neck, and she leaned into his touch and sighed. Watching her, Ron felt that perhaps these were the moments he loved her most of all – sitting cross-legged in pajama trousers, lips pursed around a quill, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Ginny was pretty excited about her promotion," he commented.

"Was she? Oh, good," Hermione seemed pleased. "She's helping us, really. I'm finding that pulling together the academic side of things is filling my plate well enough, and Bill's busy enough with the finances."

"So anything remotely interesting falls to Ginny."

"Oh, really?"

Ron grinned. "Quidditch, parties, food. What else is there?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "A bit more to it than that, I think. She's in charge of all of campus life. There's a lot of organization involved."

"That's right," Ron agreed, "Organizing an all-campus prank war, for example. She's got to keep her brother in business."

"Yes, and clearly she should prioritize that over, say, student housing." Ron nodded happily.

Hermione shook her head, smiling down at her parchment. She raked her hands back through her curls, released them, and yawned again. "I'm having the hardest time getting the instructional staff sorted."

"Oh yeah?" Ron peered at the parchment in her lap, which contained a long list of subject areas, names, and question marks, all spelled out in Hermione's neat handwriting.

"Yeah, the problem is that there aren't many in each specialty who are advanced enough to teach on a university level. Those that could are generally employed elsewhere, making more than we can afford to pay them. The ones that love teaching for the sake of it are already at Hogwarts."

"Can you share professors with Hogwarts?" Ron suggested. "You're right across the lake from them, really."

"Yeah, in some subjects," Hermione said, nodding, "The electives, generally. Hagrid and a few of the others have already agreed. It's the core subjects, though - their schedules are too full to take on more."

"That's tough," admitted Ron.

Hermione smiled wryly. "I'll make it come together somehow. I'm talking to a few people abroad, and I've managed to fill a couple of positions here and there. Did you know we've got Dean Thomas lined up to teach art?"

"That's great! See, you'll figure it out."

"I know," she agreed, shuffling her parchments and levitating them to her nightstand, setting the quill on top. "I'm just ready to start recruiting and admitting students, and I feel like I can't until I have a better sense of the staffing. Anyway," she added, tucking into the sheets and turning toward Ron, "I suppose I can worry about it all tomorrow."

Ron shook his head. "Nope, no worrying allowed on Saturdays." He kissed her mouth. "Anyway, we've got Harry coming over again."

"That's right." Hermione tucked her head into his shoulder, sighing. "I'm worried about him, too."

"Wish he would just tell us what's bothering him."

Hermione was quiet for a moment. "Well, Neville mentioned that he and Draco haven't really been speaking to each other at work since the new semester began. I wonder if they had some sort of fight."

"Okay, so?" Ron leaned back onto his pillow, pulling Crookshanks with him. "I mean, this is Malfoy we're talking about. I'd say they fought a bit when we were in school, wouldn't you? Maybe once or twice?"

"Yeah, but," Hermione frowned, "It's different now. You know that."

"You are not," declared Ron, "Losing sleep tonight over a fight – an _alleged_ fight - between Harry and Malfoy."

"I know, I know," Hermione agreed. "I love you," she added, a yawn engulfing her features. She smiled sleepily and turned on her side, facing the wall.

Ron kissed her shoulder. "Love you, too."

* * *

In the interest of avoiding Harry, I had taken to arriving quite early for breakfast, generally beating Neville to the table every morning except the ones following his overnights.

"How was it?" I asked him that Wednesday, letting the warmth of my coffee mug thaw out my hands. "Any excitement?"

"Oh, the usual. Snoggers in the fourth floor broomcloset. A few dozen Weasley products confiscated." He sighed, smiling wearily.

"It seems rather cruel that we should have to teach the days following our overnights," I reflected.

Neville shrugged good-naturedly. "Oh, I don't know. It's not so bad." He was almost inhumanly patient, I considered, not for the first time. He wasn't a strict teacher, and the students sometimes took advantage of him, but they mostly adored him. He was always available to them for individual help and attention, probably putting in twice the hours of instructional time as the rest of us.

"Actually," Neville said, suddenly, "I was hoping to talk to you about something."

"Oh?"

"I've been given – a project, you could call it, and I thought you'd be sort of uniquely qualified to help me."

I nodded, my interest piqued. "What sort of project?"

Neville smiled nervously, and I was intrigued to see a blush bloom across his cheeks. "It's really a teaching assignment," he began, "Not sure why McGonagall sought me out for this, as I'm hardly the expert, but -," he looked up, "Oh, good morning, Harry," he interrupted himself.

I looked up in time to catch Harry's eyes looking away from me hastily. He looked as though he had just woken up, his hair a catastrophe of peaks and cowlicks. It seemed that being near him would never stop hurting. I stood up, abruptly, announcing, "Well, I've got to get my classroom ready." It was what I said every morning when Harry arrived at breakfast, ever since our conversation in the storage room three weeks ago.

"Okay – see you later," Harry said softly, looking miserable.

I didn't even spare him a glance as I departed the table and crossed the Great Hall.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST:

Percy,

No harm done - don't even mention it! To be honest, and this is the strangest thing, Tilly has been known to have that effect on babies. Can't imagine why. You don't think it could be her breasts, could it? Do you reckon she has big ones? Please weigh in soon and feel free to embellish with as many details as you see fit.

With love,

George

_Dear George,_

_I respectfully decline the opportunity to comment on your girlfriend's breasts. I suspect you may be taking the piss._

_Sincerely,_

_Percy_

* * *

Author's Note: And... Harry's an idiot. Please don't hate me!


	7. February

At risk of sounding like a broken record, I'll say it again: you readers make this more fun than I could have ever imagined. Thank you thank you thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Ready for February?

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_By Neverbird_

February

* * *

"Draco Malfoy, in the flesh. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you'd been avoiding us." Pansy raised her dark eyebrows and smoothly summoned a small tray of specialty teas. I took one and made a production of fussing with my cup to avoid responding. Pansy's habit of putting me on the spot was becoming a bit tiring.

"I suppose the budding Gryffindor friendships demand a lot of his time," she continued, unfazed, as an aside to Blaise.

Blaise's lips curved with disdain. "Surely you've found better company by now than Potter and Longbottom," he commented, taking care to emphasize each of their names to fully convey the degree to which I had fallen.

It was wearying. "If you insist on clinging to childhood grudges, I won't stop you."

"It's not a grudge," Pansy replied airily. "I hold nothing against them, other than their own tedious personalities. For that, you have my sympathy."

"How kind of you."

Pansy laughed. "Don't be cross, Draco. I do wish you would come out with us more often."

"When I can," I said vaguely, "It's far."

"Distance doesn't exist with apparition," she countered firmly. I looked at her and shrugged; there was no denying her point. I supposed what I meant was the growing distance between my Slytherin friends and me.

"Is anyone else coming?" Blaise didn't bother masking his boredom. As long as I'd known him, he had never appeared satisfied by his present company.

"The Greengrass sisters should be here any moment. Astoria asked about you again, Draco," she added significantly.

"I may have to go soon," I replied shortly.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Shall I guess? Let's see, this time you're meeting Potter, is it? At a _pub_," she pursed her lips distastefully.

"In fact, no," I replied, smoothly. It still hurt to hear his name, but that wasn't for Pansy to know. "I'm teaching an extra class with Longbottom, and I've set aside the afternoon to prepare."

"Oh, of course," Pansy smiled sardonically. "An extra class. With _Longbottom_."

There was an extra class, in fact, but convincing Pansy wasn't worth the effort.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Ginny,

Seriously good news: Bill pulled together another few staff contracts, and the construction team agreed on the March start date. I think we're all sorted and ready to begin recruiting! Is McGonagall still fine with you speaking to the seventh years?

-Hermione

_H,_

_That's brilliant! Okay, I just confirmed with McGonagall, and I'll be going in on the 21st. Are you sure you don't want me to talk to Draco about Potions?_

_Oh, and are we still on the books for the beginning of March with the Prophet?_

_-G_

Ginny,

I don't know – I'd feel funny taking professors away from Hogwarts. Wouldn't it be great if Slughorn would answer my owl?

Happily, the interview with the Prophet is on for March 6th. I think it will be amazing publicity. Things actually seem to be coming together, don't you think? I'm afraid to get too excited, but I have such a good feeling about all of this.

-Hermione

_H,_

_Okay, here's what I think. Draco Malfoy is an adult, so… why don't we make him the job offer and let him choose where he wants to be? I'd say we should do the same for Harry if I thought he'd ever leave Hogwarts. But seriously, professors can't be taken from Hogwarts. Cinnamon cakes can (AND WILL) be taken from the Hogwarts kitchens (on the 21st) – but people? Self-determination and all of that, right? I know I'm speaking your language here. I'd like to see you argue with self-determination!_

_But yes, things are totally coming together, and it's going to be the bollocks. The stuff of legends._

_-G_

Ginny, of course you're right. We owe Draco the opportunity to choose for himself. You're welcome to speak with him, but the 21st is a Saturday. Wouldn't he be off?

-Hermione

P.S. I know you're not excited about tomorrow, but happy Valentine's Day all the same!

_Hermione,_

_Actually, I have it from Neville that he and Draco will be at Hogwarts that Saturday, for the most amazingly hilarious reason ever. Full disclosure: I scheduled my meeting with the seventh years that day on purpose, because I can't miss this. Any guesses? You will die when I tell you._

_Happy Valentine's to you as well! I'm coming around to the idea of it again. Seems like a good excuse for a chocolate binge, don't you reckon?_

_Love,_

_Ginny_

* * *

"Hi – but, oh," said Harry, "You don't have to – okay, he's leaving. Bye, Draco." He sighed, shooting a desperate glance at Neville as he sunk into his seat at the staff table. "It's Saturday," he muttered, though Draco was already halfway across the Hall, "You're not setting up your classroom."

Neville shrugged. "Morning, Harry."

"Cheers, Neville." Harry poured himself a mug of coffee. "Heart-shaped pancakes," he acknowledged with a nod.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Neville said, smiling wryly.

"Oh yeah," replied Harry with a short laugh. "The happiest. Thanks, McGonagall. Though, to be fair, she was my best offer." With Valentine's Day falling on a weekend, McGonagall had sought volunteers among the staff to oversee the day's festivities – themed projects in the greenhouses for the first- and second-years, Hogsmeade for the third-years and up, and a feast for supper.

It was just perfect, Harry thought sardonically. Other than the two years he was with Ginny, he was used to being single on Valentine's Day. This really topped it, though – single and spending it supervising the great teenage fluid exchange.

He tried not to think about how entirely different today would be if he were spending it kissing Draco in empty classrooms.

"What was he saying before he, uh, had to go?" Harry tried to sound nonchalant, "About Susan, was it?"

"Oh. Well, I suppose he's having dinner with her later this week."

"Just the two of them?" Harry asked sharply.

Neville regarded him, his brown eyes sympathetic. "I guess so, maybe? I'm not really sure"

It was stupid to be jealous. Draco was gay, after all. He had said so to Harry directly. And besides, Draco had the right to eat dinner with anyone he wanted to, didn't he?

Susan, though, he thought irritably. What would they even have to talk about?

The earliest group of students set out for Hogsmeade right after breakfast, and Harry figured he might as well head down there himself. McGonagall hadn't been too specific about her expectations, only requesting that the professors serve as a watchful presence in the town. Harry figured he would plant himself at a table in the Three Broomsticks, since he didn't have the stomach to supervise Madame Puddifoot's.

The chilly flight over the frozen lake left Harry red-cheeked and a bit congested. The Three Broomsticks was nearly empty this early in the day, but a fire had been lit in the big stone fireplace, and the comforting smell of coffee reached him as soon as he walked through the door. Shutting it behind him, he shook the snow off his broom and set it on the rack by the doorway.

There was a sudden, pleasant lurch below Harry's abdomen when he noticed the straight posture and pale blond hair of the figure occupying the back corner booth. Before he could talk himself out of it, he wound his way between empty tables and stepped into Draco's line of vision. Draco looked up at him, his expression impenetrable as always, and Harry felt instantly reduced to an awkward, pubescent schoolboy stammering his way through an invitation for a date.

"Hello - can I join you?"

Draco regarded Harry calmly, pausing before marking the page in the book he had been reading, shutting it unhurriedly, and sliding it aside. "If you'd like," he replied, with an indifferent nod.

It wasn't the most enthusiastic welcome, but Harry scooted determinedly into the booth, facing him. "How have you been, Draco?"

"Fine, thanks," Draco said, polite and aloof. There was a stretch of silence, through which Harry heard the crackle of the fire and the faint tinkling bell of the pub's door opening.

"So, uh," Harry began, nodding uncomfortably, "I've been…" Draco regarded him with cool, gray eyes, and Harry's mind went blank. Mercifully, a waitress appeared to refill Draco's coffee and take Harry's order, saving him from stumbling his way toward the completion of that particular sentence.

"How's the coffee?" Harry asked brightly, changing tactics.

"Not bad."

Harry bit back a sigh, feeling exasperated and determined, all at once. He forged on. "Not a lot of students in here yet, huh?"

"Probably not until lunch," replied Draco.

"Reckon most of them are starting with Honeydukes, getting their Valentine's gifts sorted."

Draco took a slow sip of coffee and shrugged.

"Boxes of chocolates," Harry continued lamely, "And Ron's got love potions in stock."

"In that case," Draco advised, "You should keep an eye on your coffee."

"What?" Harry asked, looking up at him suddenly.

"If the Ball was any indication, you've got a lot of admirers," Draco explained. Then, evidently realizing what he had just said, he blushed and looked down. "Among the students," he added softly, a beat too late.

"Draco, I – I know I never gave you much of an explanation for the way it all ended up."

Draco had regained his composure so quickly, Harry almost doubted the mask had ever slipped. "You don't need to explain anything."

"I think I do," said Harry, "I can't take…you're mad at me, and I honestly feel sick about the whole thing, and it's just – I don't know. Will you hear me out?"

Harry was focused so intently on Draco that he hardly noticed the waitress reappear with his coffee. Draco didn't urge him to continue, but the fact that he didn't get up and leave was encouragement enough.

He adjusted his glasses and inhaled deeply. "I know you must think I'm a complete tosser or a coward or both." Harry wanted Draco to contradict him, but he didn't. "I know I've cocked it all up."

He paused, taking a sip of his coffee, not minding that it burnt his tongue slightly. "I've really – I've liked getting to know you. We were so – just, stupid when we were younger, and then we never really talked that last year, and so. I guess it was like getting a second chance with you." He looked up at Draco, who was staring somewhere over Harry's shoulder, his hands lightly gripping the edge of the table. He was listening, though.

"And then the Ball," Harry swallowed, "After the Ball, everything that happened. It was just, you know. In the moment, I was – and still, I really." He raked his hand nervously through his hair. "It's just, I don't know how I feel about it, and about me being – you know. The thing is, I can't just sort out in private. It's like – my business is always so public. Always. I hate it. I guess," he sighed, "I don't know. I wasn't ready to see us in the papers. For people to think I'm gay. So maybe that does make me a coward."

There, Harry thought. That had been mostly coherent, hadn't it?

Draco sipped his coffee and blinked.

"Have you ever," began Harry. "I guess I'm wondering if it was hard for you, at first. Telling people?"

Draco was quiet for a moment. "I haven't told people," he replied at last, his eyes downcast and veiled by pale, thick lashes.

"What about your parents?" Harry was stunned.

"Especially not them. They would be… quite disappointed." Draco pursed his lips, explaining, "Pureblood families take bloodlines very seriously. It's very important for me to produce an heir."

"But you could still produce an heir," Harry replied eagerly, feeling almost giddy with relief that Draco seemed to be speaking to him again. "What about the Philter?" His eyes widened suddenly, and he turned to Draco with a start. "Is that why you were interested in the research for that?"

At once, Draco's shoulders stiffened, and there was a sinking feeling in Harry's stomach; he had overstepped. "Draco, Merlin, I'm sorry." Draco slid smoothly out of the booth, leaving a small handful of coins on the table. "Don't go," entreated Harry.

Draco turned to face him, meeting Harry's eyes for what seemed like the first time in weeks. "You know what?" he said, his eyes flashing dangerously, and a hint of the old drawl coloring his voice. "Fuck off, Potter. I'm done."

He walked directly out of the pub without glancing back.

* * *

When I was a child, before beginning at Hogwarts, I had nurtured a secret infatuation with the Harry Potter I knew from legends, gossip, and the occasional surreptitiously obtained photos that made their way into the papers. In most wizarding households, Potter was looked on as a saint; not so in mine, but nonetheless, I perceived an undertone of fear in my father's voice when he spoke of him. It was that, in fact, more than anything, that made Potter so intriguing.

The summer before I started at Hogwarts, it had suddenly clicked that Harry Potter was an actual wizard my own age, soon to be a member of my class. With perfect clarity, I remember the itchy, electric anticipation of a September that felt like it would never arrive. I had decided that I would take the celebrity Potter under my wing, becoming his guide and confidant. What a person to befriend, and how grateful he would be. It wasn't that I fancied him then, not exactly. I suppose I needed to be the kind of person who was connected to and admired by someone so interesting, famous, and powerful.

It's hard to say what I had expected, but it wasn't Potter's unequivocal and emphatic rejection. At eleven, I had the twin advantages of wealth and social connections. Potter was the first person I had known who had no use for my friendship. Humiliated and enraged, I became completely preoccupied with him. It felt so important to make Potter regret his decision, almost a need. I remember it vividly.

But then there were those other feelings, terrifying, confusing, and unspeakable. Everyone around me – Vincent, Greg, Blaise – had suddenly become fixated on girls, and I couldn't seem to match their enthusiasm. In fact, I found girls to be wholly uninteresting, even a bit tedious. When they talked about sex, I felt disconnected and false – and yet, I felt a tug of recognition. Their fascination with the girls in our classes wasn't so different from my fascination with Potter, and I knew it. And it frightened me.

It was Potter I pictured in the showers and, after learning the silencing charm, behind the curtains of my bed. By day, I snarled at him, and mocked him, and didn't let him ignore me. At night, he was a fixture in my dreams, and his name was always upon the tip of my tongue when I woke.

Now the memory of early adolescence, with its heartache and longing, was discomfiting, even jarring. It seemed impossible that such passions could reside in the minds of the eleven- and twelve-year-olds now fidgeting before me in the Great Hall

"The clitoris," Neville announced stiffly, "Is located near the front of the labia minora. If you'll look now at the second diagram…"

"Is this in addition to your knob?" blurted Bruno Bagman.

I glanced at Neville, wearily.

"No," Neville clarified, his patience evidently limitless, "We're discussing the female anatomy, Bruno." Bruno and several other boys looked vastly relieved.

Better this, I supposed, than the surprising and disturbing worldliness of the third and fourth years. We had given them the opportunity to submit questions anonymously; unfortunately, this had resulted in a dozen inquiries beginning with the phrase, "Can you get pregnant from…," and ending with unfamiliar words that I could only assume were new and innovative sex acts.

"This is what thirteen-year-olds are doing?" Neville had murmured afterward, his expression pained.

"So they would have us believe."

Neville looked suddenly ill. "_When_, though? I mean, where do you suppose they...?"

"Sneaking into the greenhouses, don't you think?" I suggested.

In his most violent hour since beheading Voldemort's snake, Neville Longbottom swatted me, gently, on the arm. "That isn't funny," he groaned.

"It's really not," I agreed.

* * *

After the obligatory photo reel showcasing venereal poxes, our shellshocked first and second years slunk back to the dormitories looking pale. Ginny Weasley, on the other hand, burst in as Neville and I were taking down the posters, looking positively ebullient.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Sexual Studies - am I in the right place?"

"What gave it away?" I asked, gesturing to a larger-than life, overly-detailed diagram of a penis that was currently levitating above Neville's head.

"That," Weasley remarked, "Is an extremely sexy picture."

"It really captures the spirit of the vas deferens," I agreed. She and I exchanged grins; it could almost be said, these days, that I was fond of her.

"Nev, you look traumatized," Ginny said, laughing and enveloping him in a hug. "Was it awful?"

"Completely," confirmed Neville, though he looked quite flushed and contented now.

"Poor Neville," she sighed, rubbing his back comfortingly. The effect this gesture had on Neville was palpable, though it was hard to say if Weasley realized. I bit back a smile.

"Tell me everything. Was it so awkward? What were the first years like?"

"What are you doing here, anyway?" I asked her.

"Oh, I just got out of meeting with the seventh years to talk to them about the university. Which reminds me, Draco, I need to talk to you in a sec," she pointed at me briefly, and then waved her hand dismissively, "But first, really. Sexual studies taught by Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy. I just have to hear about it. I'm kicking myself that I couldn't sit in on it."

"It was just so thrilling," I deadpanned, "We had the most wonderful time."

"What was the most interesting question you got?"

Neville and I glanced at each other, and I knew immediately we were both thinking of the same anonymous note that had been included among the third and fourth years' questions. It had read, simply, _"I think I may be gay, and I don't know what to do."_ It had been on my mind all day.

Weasley grinned expectantly.

Neville shrugged. "There was the one about whether you could keep your sperm as a pet," he suggested, blushing like a pubescent schoolboy at the word "sperm."

"Oh no," Weasley seemed delighted, "No you cannot."

"Evidently, we have some lonely first years," I said, sighing, "Maybe his mother will buy him a cat."

* * *

There was something about family dinners at the Burrow that Harry found so comforting. The assembled group was always in flux these days, between holiday obligations to in-laws and Charlie being so frequently abroad. Nonetheless, the smells and sounds were the same, and Harry felt the same way he always felt when he was there: cozy, relaxed, and centered. If Hogwarts had been the first real home he remembered, the Weasleys had certainly been his first real taste of family.

The thought of losing that center was unfathomable – it was the one thing he was sure of. In the almost two months since that awful conversation with Draco, Harry had lived in a constant state of doubt and confusion. He rarely remembered his dreams anymore, but he always seemed to wake up thinking about Draco, and his mind had an inconvenient habit of presenting him with sudden, distracting memories. The flash of a dimple in Draco's cheek. The movement of his Adam's apple as Harry had first taken his hand. At this point, the sight of blond hair against black robes was enough to make Harry's heart catch in his throat.

And yet, here at the Burrow, he thought he may have made the right decision about Draco after all. Because Draco was Draco Malfoy, and he didn't belong at this table.

Tonight's purpose was to celebrate Ron, of course, though his actual birthday was tomorrow. Everyone was there for the first time in ages, and the house was nearly overflowing with people. He had been cornered by Teddy, who had found something to be very excited about, and seemed determined to talk Harry's ear off.

"Harry, did you know Paul in my class, his brother's birthday is _today_, and it's his _second_ birthday, but he's Paul's _older_ brother. And Paul is six. It's so weird, right, Harry?"

Victoire, who had wandered over to join them, regarded Teddy smugly. "That's impossible, Teddy."

"No, it is possible, isn't it, Harry? Because the twenty-ninth of February is every four years, so Paul's brother only has a birthday once every four years, so this is his second birthday, so really he's two!"

"I'm telling my papa you're lying," Victoire said crossly.

"I'm not lying," Teddy insisted, after she had stalked off, looking up at Harry with a hint of desperation.

"I know," Harry replied, ruffling Teddy's green hair, "And you're right. Did you realize that Ron was born in a leap year? If he had been born one day earlier, he would be turning six this year."

"But _I'm_ six!" gasped Teddy, hair turning electric pink in his excitement. "We've got to tell him!" He grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him in Ron's direction with impressive force.

"Hello, mates," Ron greeted, biting happily into one of his mum's hors d'oeuvres. "Oi, Harry," he seemed to remember suddenly. "I know what you're giving me for my birthday."

"Well, yes," agreed Harry, amused, "Seeing as you're the one who picked it out."

"Oh yeah," Ron grinned. "Okay, but in addition to the Cannons playbook - "

"Limited edition Cannons playbook," Harry reminded him amiably, "Signed by the entire 2002 team."

"The year they weren't last," Ron recalled, fondly, "Yeah, so in addition to that, I'll need a birthday favor."

"And that would be?"

Ron put on his most ingratiating smile. "What do you know about wedding flowers?"

Harry blinked. "Um, like…less than nothing."

"Great, me too. So, what do you say?"

"_Ron_," Teddy interjected breathlessly, his patience stretched to its limit. "Guess what!"

"What do I say about what?" Harry asked.

"Ron!"

Ron pulled Teddy into a backward hug, but turned again to Harry. "Coming with me to pick out my wedding flowers. This Saturday."

"Shouldn't you, uh, be doing that with Hermione?"

"She's got university stuff. It's like an interview with a bloke from the Prophet. Hold on just a tick, Teddy," he added, ruffling Teddy's hair. "So, are you in?"

"Wouldn't Fleur be good at that? Or Neville, actually?"

"You," Ron said firmly.

"Me," agreed Harry, shrugging. "Okay." He supposed it would be a distraction, anyway.

"Ron, can I please tell you something? _Please?_"

"Have at it, Ted," he replied, winking briefly at Harry, "I'm all ears."

Wedding flowers, of all things. Well. Maybe he'd be good at them, he considered, since evidently he was gay. But he wasn't gay. Not gay. Not mooning over Draco. Hardly even thinking about Draco. Even if he did think about him, quite a lot, actually, well. It didn't have to mean anything.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Weasley,

I've given a great deal of thought to our conversation last Saturday. It's a compelling offer. I think I'm in.

Best,

Draco Malfoy

_That's fantastic – let's schedule a time to meet with Hermione and Bill to put together a contract for you. And Draco? For the love of Merlin, call me Ginny._

* * *

Author's Note: And... action:

DELETED SCENE

"Thank you - these are wonderful questions," you praised, surveying the twitchy lot of adolescents currently avoiding eye contact with you. "It looks like we've got just one more." Summoning it out of the box, you unfolded it carefully and read it silently before sharing it with the pubescents.

"Can u get pregnant from reading fanfiction?" it stated, in bold, loopy print.

You sighed inwardly. Had their parents taught them nothing?

"Excellent question," you replied, fixing a patient smile on your face. "Yes, it is possible to get pregnant from reading fanfiction, even if it's your very first time. That's why it's important to practice safe reading by leaving a review every time."

Your students looked up at you, nodding solemnly. For their own safety, you hoped they would take your message to heart.


	8. March

Okay, Harry, get it together. You owe it to our awesome readers. Let's do this.

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_by Neverbird_

March

* * *

Stepping through the doorway of the small florist's shop in Muggle London, Harry couldn't remember a time he had felt less in his element.

"Looks like flowers," Ron announced, pointlessly. It seemed that there were hundreds of them, stems neatly trimmed, sorted by color and variety in large buckets or pre-arranged in pristine glass vases.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" greeted the shop lady, who was plump and rosy with wild gray hair.

Ron scuffed his feet awkwardly. "I, uh, think I have an appointment. I guess it would be under Granger? It's for a wedding – for my wedding."

"Oh, yes, yes! You're right on time, Mr. Granger. I'm Louise," she clasped his hand, "And is this your…?" She smiled pleasantly at Harry, clasping his hand as well.

"I'm Harry," he said, uncertainly.

"Oh, he's not – we're not a couple!" Ron exclaimed, freckles disappearing as his skin turned beet red. "He's my best man. Not… yeah. My fiancée couldn't be here. _She_ had to work," he explained, with undue emphasis on the pronoun.

"Oops - my apologies," Louise replied easily, "Well, then, shall we get started? Anything in particular that you had in mind, to start off?" Ron shook his head helplessly. "Not to worry," assured Louise.

She had them start by looking around the shop, with the task of identifying a few flowers that they found appealing. Harry let Ron take the lead, shuffling behind him and approving anything he pointed out. "She'd like this one, right?" Ron considered, lips pursed thoughtfully. "It's blue," he added.

"Yeah, looks all right to me," Harry nodded.

"I feel like I'm being tested. She says she doesn't care, but, you know. Does she?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't," Harry said.

"Yeah, but you're a bloke. Oh, and how funny was that, by the by? Bloody hell," Ron chuckled appreciatively, "She thought we were a pair of poufs. Merlin. Out of the mouth of Muggles, right? If she knew she was talking to Harry Potter himself…"

"Well, how could she know?" Harry replied sharply.

"That's my point – she wouldn't, 'cause she's a Muggle." He glanced sideways at Harry. "You all right, mate?"

"What? Yeah, fine. Why?"

"Because you seem…look, you know I wasn't trying to take the piss or anything, right? I don't have a problem with that stuff, you know. Nothing wrong with it. It's just not every day that you see Witch Weekly's number one bachelor being mistaken for a bent Muggle, is all."

"Picking out wedding flowers with another bloke will do it, don't you think?" Harry quipped, beating back a blush.

Ron grinned. "Touché."

He finally settled on a puffy blue sort of flower to start and presented it to the shop lady with a tentative shrug. "Yes, of course, the hydrangea," she remarked, tapping the tips of her fingers together thoughtfully. Evidently inspired, she began collecting bunches of flowers from the buckets, holding them up against Ron's hydrangea and eyeing them critically. Ron nodded uncertainly, while Harry looked on with glazed eyes.

"So, what if we…," the shop lady trailed off, biting her lip. "The peony, perhaps?" She bunched several fluffy white blossoms together with the hydrangea. "Fill it out with greenery…"

"I like that," piped Ron, looking on with awakening interest.

Harry thought it looked like a bunch of flowers; it was hard to say whether any of them looked better than any of the others. Ron seemed to be becoming more animated about the whole thing, but Harry couldn't imagine himself ever mustering up an opinion about peonies. Maybe if it was his own wedding.

An image flashed in Harry's mind of himself looking through the buckets of blooms and blossoms, making selections based on some sort of unifying theme and color scheme. Even in his imagination, he was quite bumbling and clueless. Draco would probably take the lead on flowers, he reckoned, though – Harry stopped short, his breath catching in his throat.

His hypothetical wedding - it was with Draco. Well then.

* * *

The afternoon sun beamed down on the line of umbrellas outside Café La Voisin, and Ginny and Susan were determined to sip their drinks at one of the outdoor tables; with a warming charm, it really wasn't all that chilly, and the wizard-watching in this part of Diagon Alley was too good to resist.

Only moments after they settled in, one particular wizard did a double take as he passed. "Who do we have here?" exclaimed George. "So, hello, then. I'm George Weasley," he declared amiably, locking his eyes on Susan, "Her brother. The handsome one." He extended his hand.

"Yes, we've met," Susan replied shortly, giving his hand an obligatory shake, "A few times. Susan Bones."

"Susan, of course," George replied smoothly, swiping an extra chair from an adjacent table and planting himself in it backward, his chin resting on its back. "How's the coffee today?"

"Hot cocoa, actually," said Susan.

Ginny rubbed her cheek absently. "George, since we've got you here – okay, we're finalizing the plans for Hermione's hen night. Is it all right if we claim the second Saturday in April? She wanted to do them on different nights, so either she or Ron could be home to do Crookshanks' injection."

"Fine by me. We're doing Ron's the thirty-first of March."

"The thirty-first? Isn't that the middle of the week?"

"Ah, but here's the thing," George looked inordinately pleased with himself, "It doesn't matter that it's a weekday, because Harry and Neville are off for Easter holiday, Bill sets his own schedule like the badass he is, Charlie's out of the country anyway, Percy wouldn't even come if it was on a Saturday, and Ron," he declared, "Speaking as his boss, Ron gets to take the next day off."

"April Fools' Day?" questioned Ginny. "Don't you guys run a joke shop?"

"Someone will cover the shop," George waved his hands dismissively, "The important thing is you can find strippers on a discount during the week."

"Well, that is important," Ginny replied tartly. She shook her head. "Do you really think Ron would want strippers?"

"Ginny. It's his stag night."

"It's Ron."

"Exactly," George replied. Ginny and Susan exchanged puzzled glances. "Anyway, talking of the upcoming festivities, I'm meant to break up with my girlfriend this afternoon. Lovely running into you, though!" he added sincerely, ruffling his sister's hair before continuing on his way.

"Wow," remarked Susan, as George's red mop of hair had disappeared into the crowd. "Your brother is quite the..."

"Oh, Merlin, I know. I know. But he's actually really sweet."

"He's not really going to split up with his girlfriend for a stag party, right?"

"Oh," said Ginny, eyebrows furrowed, "Well, I expect he is, actually. Not necessarily due to the party, but well. He always splits with his girlfriends before his birthday, and that's the first of April."

"Well," replied Susan, "I hope it works out for him." She and Ginny exchanged shrugs.

* * *

FIRST WIZARDING UNIVERSITY SLATED TO OPEN IN SEPTEMBER

By Edwina Limus, for the_ Daily Prophet_

Good news for witches and wizards looking to focus on their pocus after graduating Hogwarts: the Albus Dumbledore University is scheduled to open its doors this September at a newly constructed campus in Hogsmeade. As the first magical university in Europe, it will offer advanced education in a range of magical subjects, culminating in the conferral of a "Bachelor of Sorcery" degree after four years of study. This reporter had the opportunity to speak on record with Hermione Granger, founder and Vice-Chancellor, and Ginevra Weasley, Student Life Coordinator, to learn more about this milestone achievement in wizarding education.

Known for her friendship with Harry Potter and her role in the defeat of You Know Who, Hermione Granger was inspired to create a university of wizardry after she graduated from Hogwarts and noticed the dearth of options for advanced magical schooling. Eager to advance to the next stage in her education, Granger turned down several offers for prestigious apprenticeships stating, "I wanted something more structured, more comprehensive." With no options for formal magical schooling, Granger, a Muggleborn witch with an exceptional academic record, joined the small but growing number of witches and wizards choosing to matriculate at Muggle universities.

Throughout the last century, a small magical community has flourished at a number of prestigious Muggle institutions of higher learning. Magical students are matched with mentors from the wizarding community, who advise them academically and link them with wizarding peers. Graduates of these programs typically reintegrate into the magical community, applying their advanced knowledge and skills across a variety of magical disciplines. Still, notes Granger, "There were gaps in the curriculum – obviously, charms and transfiguration and the like weren't in the course catalogue." Furthermore, magical students attending Muggle universities have been known to describe the experience as isolating, citing challenges of maintaining a private magical identity when living and learning among Muggles.

When Granger graduated from Oxford University last year, she sprung into action, quickly locating an available space in Hogsmeade and connecting with those who could help make her dream a reality. To manage the financial side of the business, she teamed with William Weasley, a former Curse Breaker whose ties to Gringotts smoothed the process of obtaining loans and negotiating contracts. William's sister Ginevra, formerly of the Holyhead Harpies and famous for dating Harry Potter at Hogwarts, was later hired to coordinate student lodging, social functions, clubs, and athletics. Over the past few months, the trio has worked tirelessly to coordinate construction of campus buildings, recruit talented professors, and reach out to potential students. "It's been a bit of a whirlwind," admits Granger, "Far from complete, but we're getting there."

What can we expect when Albus Dumbledore University opens its doors this September? According to Granger, course offerings will span a full range of magical subjects, including Hogwarts standards like transfiguration, potions, defensive magic, herbology, arithmancy, ancient runes, astronomy, and charms. Additionally, students will be able to pick from nonmagical subjects like English literature, art, science, mathematics, and music. "Our goal is to integrate magical and nonmagical learning, building a community of scholars with a broad base of knowledge and the ability to apply it flexibly," stated Granger.

Students will also be assigned to one of four residential colleges, each with its own dormitory on campus. Each college will have its own Quidditch team, explained Ginevra Weasley, though competitions between the university league and the Hogwarts program are already in the planning stages. In addition to Quidditch, students will have the option of participating in a number of different extracurricular activities ranging from theater to astrology to a student newspaper. "We're hoping there's something for everyone," Weasley said.

Albus Dumbledore University is now accepting applications for the upcoming term from graduating Hogwarts seventh-years or Hogwarts alumni. Interested applicants should send their N.E.W.T. results, two letters of recommendation, and a written personal statement not to exceed three rolls of parchment via owl post to ADU Administrative offices, c/o H. Granger, Hogsmeade. A limited number of scholarships are available to qualified applicants; inquiries must be included within the application packet.

* * *

"Draco, darling, there's something on your mind," my mother remarked over dessert, after my father had stepped out to use the toilet. I glanced up at her with a start; every once in awhile, she managed to catch me off guard with her perceptiveness.

I chewed and swallowed my cake slowly, buying a moment to respond. "Do I seem distracted?" I asked, finally.

"You seem troubled." She arranged another slice of cake on a fresh china plate and levitated it to me without comment. "Is everything fine at work? Do you need money?"

"Everything's fine. Actually," I added, "I've got some news."

My father returned to the dining room, silk robes sweeping across the hardwoods. "Litty, I'll have more tea," he nodded curtly to the house elf. He turned to me. "News?"

I supposed they would be pleased I had accepted a job for the upcoming year at the university. They had never been entirely comfortable with my return to Hogwarts, and they would understand my interest in working with older students and conducting my own research. I even expected they would eventually come around to the idea of Hermione Granger as my boss. I opened my mouth to tell them.

But that wasn't actually what I wanted to tell them.

I shut my eyes briefly, steeling myself. "So, I'm gay," I said simply, not knowing a better way to phrase it.

My father drew his shoulders back. "I beg your pardon?"

I met his eyes, as calmly as I could muster. "I'm gay. Homosexual."

My mother had gone pale, her knuckles stark white as she clutched the handle of her cup.

"That isn't funny, Draco," my father said, his voice ominously quiet.

"It isn't a joke, Father."

"Then explain yourself." His eyes narrowed.

I felt an odd urge to laugh. "What's there to explain? I'm gay. I always have been. I'm attracted to men." I shrugged. "I'm not sure what else you want me to say."

"You can start by apologizing for upsetting your mother," he replied sharply.

"Apologize for what? Being gay? That's it – I just am."

"You're not a homosexual. You are a Malfoy."

"Malfoys can be gay, evidently," I said, biting back a smile. I glanced briefly at my mother, who whose pale hand was now trembling at her collarbone.

My father slammed both hands against the table suddenly. "Absolutely not. I forbid it. After everything your mother has done for you. You will marry. You will give her a grandchild."

There was no point reminding them of modern advancements in reproductive wizardry; anyway, they were perfectly aware of my work with the Philter, whether they chose to acknowledge it or not.

"Is that all?" I asked coolly, standing and pushing in my chair, "Thank you for a lovely meal, Mother. Will I see you at Easter?"

"Yes, darling," she replied, shakily. My father made a choking noise, and a ceramic teacup suddenly shattered - my teacup, specifically. I raised my eyebrows.

"_Reparo_," my father muttered, furiously.

I thought they would probably come around. Actually, at the moment, I almost didn't care whether or not they did. I felt a surge of joy and relief and adrenaline. There wasn't a secret anymore; it was like stepping outside on the first warm day of spring.

Maybe Harry Potter didn't have this kind of courage, but as it turned out, I did.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Ginny Ginny, Short and Skinny,

Of all the people to run into in Diagon Alley – was it coincidence or fate? Amazing. We'll have to do it again soon.

So, your friend Susan is cute. Single? Partial to charming, one-eared gingers?

With love,

The Original Charming, One-Eared Ginger

_Dear Original C1EG,_

_Well, I take it you've split with Tilly, then. Hope she took it okay. So, yeah, Susan? I don't think you made the best impression. Not going to happen, sorry. Chin up, though. You've still got your discount strippers._

_So, I reckon I'll see you after Wednesday's bender. I'll have the sofa ready for you._

_Love,_

_Ginny, Ginny, Short and Really, You Think So?_

Ginny,

Tilly who? Too bad about Susan, then, and lucky I can afford those strippers.

Now, what's this about your couch? Assuming I won't make it home that night, are you?

-Your C1EG

_George,_

_Just a hunch. Let's just say I've already alerted Harry, and I'll have a birthday cake waiting for you in my refrigerator._

_-Your C2EG_

* * *

"So, I take it we're not going to the Three Broomsticks," Ron muttered under his breath to Harry. He glanced up at the sky, which was heavy with foreboding gray clouds. "Wherever it is, I hope it isn't far."

George looped back to Ron and Harry, coming up behind them and swinging his arms around their shoulders. "You're going to love it," he assured Ron. "Tonight is your night." At last, he turned abruptly down an alley that only led to one pub.

"Oh, thank Merlin, it's just the Hog's Head," breathed Ron, "I started to worry he was taking us somewhere… I don't know. Like the Shrieking Shack."

They arrived at the Hog's Head, and George turned to Ron and Harry, beaming. "Welcome to your stag do," he announced, gesturing grandly. "And we've got the whole place to ourselves for the night."

Inside, the pub was as dark and dodgy as always, though George had tried to give it a festive edge with some fairy lights.

"Oi, Ron!"

"Congratulations, Ron!"

The guests had already assembled, and Ron was greeted with ample high fives and his choice of liquor. "Wow, really, thanks for coming all the way out here, mates," he said, seeming pleasantly surprised at the turnout, "And on a Wednesday."

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it," Dean Thomas replied, patting Ron gamely on the back. "Look at this – all five of us together for the first time since graduation. Seamus, get Neville over here for a picture." He beamed at Ron and Harry. "Really good to see you mates. And Ron, first to get married. Who'd have guessed?"

"The loudest snorer I've ever known," Seamus contributed, returning shortly with Neville, "If he's found someone to share his bed, I reckon there's hope for all of us."

"Firewhiskey, Ron?"

Ron grinned. "I think I'll start with a pint, thanks."

"I'll have that firewhiskey," George said, swiping it from Dean and throwing it back in one mighty gulp. "Think I'll have another," he mused, eyeing the bar.

Within an hour, the pub was packed with Weasley and Prewitt cousins and old schoolmates, and the arrival of Hagrid made quarters that much tighter. George presided over the festivities, ensuring that Ron's glass was never empty, while imbibing heavily himself. An hour after that found Seamus and Lee Jordan drunkenly serenading the guest of honor with a vulgar rewrite of a Weird Sisters classic. Ron was nearly breathless with laughter, and even Neville was pink and tipsy.

No one noticed Harry switching to water after a single pint. He was thankful for that – he didn't know how he could have explained to Ron that he wasn't feeling as festive as one would rightfully expect from the best man. Actually, he wasn't sure he could have explained it to himself. He just felt off, somehow, and strangely melancholy. And it was lonely being sober in a room where everyone else was pissed.

Of course, no one could match George Weasley for sheer arse-over-tip drunkenness. In one moment, he could be found leaning heavily into Hagrid's shoulder; in the next, he was sliding down against the back wall, landing on his bum in a fit of laughter. By the time his much-anticipated pair of strippers appeared, he could barely walk the length of the room to greet them. Harry was stunned; it was barely half past ten.

"All right, mate," Harry said, intercepting George as he staggered to the bar for a refill.

"Whaaa? Gerroff me, Harry Potter. I need a drink!"

"Oh no. You really, really don't. Time to go." Harry pulled George's arm back and around his shoulders, and used his other arm to steady him. George sighed theatrically, but acquiesced, and hung off Harry as they moved slowly toward the exit. Harry waved a quick goodbye to Ron, who was, at the moment, loudly explaining to the strippers that they would have to keep their clothes on.

"Short leash she's got you on," George pronounced, stabbing his pointer finger in Ron's general direction, "Short leash." He shook his head solemnly, and allowed Harry to drag him through the door.

It was raining steadily by now, but George was clearly too far gone to apparate, and Harry suspected that an attempt to side-along would end in a mess of vomit. It seemed they would be walking to Ginny's flat, never mind that it was halfway across town. Harry could only hope that the rain would help sober up his sottish, stumbling companion.

"Steady does it," he murmured to George, guiding him down the alley.

"I'm wet!" George sounded amazed and a bit affronted.

"Rain will do that." Clumsily, with his free left hand, Harry pushed his soaked fringe out of his eyes and muttered a quick water repelling charm on his spectacles.

"Soooooo, where are you taking me, Harry? Harry Potter," George asked, giggling. His hair, normally worn shaggy to cover his missing ear, was slicked forward against his cheek, and the sight of the exposed hole was nearly as startling to Harry as the first time he'd seen it.

"To your sister's flat," he replied, "She's expecting you."

"Expecting me?"

"She said you had an arrangement, yeah?"

George seemed to consider this for a moment. "She bought me a birthday cake!"

Harry smiled. "Ah, right, that's tomorrow. In just an hour or so, actually. Happy birthday, mate."

Harry nearly took a tumble as George abruptly stopped short. "Birthdays are _crap_," he said, with feeling.

"Oh…okay," Harry mumbled, at a total loss.

"They're crap. My birthday can bugger the fuck off. Yeah," he elaborated, glancing at Harry with an expression that was suddenly desperate. For a moment, he didn't speak, and Harry could hear him breathing over the patter of the rain. "It can fuck off," he concluded, finally, his voice soft.

"But on the other hand," he remarked, quickly brightening, "I really love cake."

When they finally reached Ginny's doorway, she was waiting for them in Muggle sweatpants and an old Harpies shirt, her red hair pulled loosely back from her face. "Aha," she greeted, resting her hand on her brother's arm. "Hello, you – there's a glass of water and a little vial of anti-hangover potion on the coffee table. Dry clothes and blankets on the sofa. Off you go."

"Ah, Ginny," sighed George gratefully, enveloping her in a wet hug and burying his head in her shoulder. He glanced up at Harry, smiling sheepishly. "Cheers, mate."

"Don't mention it," Harry smiled, "Sleep it off, okay?"

"Yessir," George yawned, reaching to give both their backs an affectionate pat, before trudging off to the living room.

Ginny looked up at Harry and shrugged. "Want to come in?"

"Sure, yeah. Thanks." Harry followed her through the dining room to the kitchen table.

"Thanks for getting him here," she said sincerely. She sighed, gazing briefly in the direction of the living room. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink? Water? I guess it would be wrong to break into George's birthday cake."

Harry laughed. "Probably."

"Oh, and do you need any of that hangover potion? It's legit, don't worry – Draco put it together for me."

"Draco?" Harry asked, startled. He felt a blush begin to erupt.

"Yup," Ginny replied, watching him carefully. She opened her mouth as if to add something, but seemed to think better of it.

"Oh, well, thanks, but I'm fine. Didn't feel like getting pissed tonight," Harry replied hastily. "So, uh is everything all right with him?" He gestured toward the living room.

"George? Yeah, he'll be okay." She smiled sadly. "He does this every year on his birthday, you know. Finds an excuse to get, just, completely wasted. He'll be fine in the morning."

"He didn't seem too happy about his birthday," Harry remarked vaguely.

"Yeah." Ginny sighed and tucked her legs beneath her like a pretzel in the chair. "He's just… I think it's hard for him, with Fred. He doesn't really talk about it, but it's like…I don't know. I miss him terribly, but for George - I can't imagine."

Harry nodded, wordlessly.

"He said something about it once," Ginny continued, "This was like, I don't know, two years ago. Night before his birthday, and he was pissed. He said the thing about getting older was that it took him another year farther away from Fred." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and yawned. "Forgot he had said it the next morning, of course."

"Wow, yeah," Harry blinked, "It's just, you know, it's always such a lark with him. He acts so…like everything's okay, I guess."

"Right, exactly," agreed Ginny. "But, it's like, ever since the funeral, I feel like he takes it to the other extreme. Sometimes I think he's trying to be Fred. George was never – well. Fred was always the leader, I guess. Like, he always took the joke a step further. Maybe a little more confident. And I feel like George tries to be that now." She nodded thoughtfully. "All the switching from girlfriend to girlfriend, and acting like nothing ever bothers him. It's not really him," she said, "It's not. And it's not Fred either. If Fred were alive now…I don't know. He'd probably be married or something. For all we know, he'd have turned out like Percy. But George has him stuck at age twenty."

Harry smiled wryly. "He'd never have turned out like Percy."

Ginny laughed, her eyes a bit shiny. "Yeah, you're right." She wiped the corner of her eye briefly, sighing. "Oh, Harry." Harry looked at her. "You know you're one of us, right? You're family."

"Thanks, Gin."

"Really, though. And you probably know this, but I'll just put it out there. We love you. No matter what. Mum, Dad, all of us. You should never worry about it, okay?" She gave him a look that was knowing and searching all at once. "I want you to be happy."

Harry nodded, his heart in his throat.

"It isn't quite midnight yet," Ginny added softly, touching his cheek for just a moment. "I bet he's still awake."

* * *

Harry allowed himself a single fortifying breath before knocking on the door. For a moment, there was silence, and then the dull thud of footsteps. Harry's heart pounded rebelliously.

The door opened, revealing Draco in pajama trousers and a soft white shirt. "Hi," he greeted stiffly, his gray eyes unreadable.

"Hi," Harry replied, feeling breathless, "Draco, I – I've got to," he swallowed thickly, "Draco, I'm so sorry. God, I'm sorry. I'm a huge prat. I don't even know what to say. But I need you to forgive me."

"That's..." Draco shrugged noncommittally, his hand skimming the doorframe. "Is that all?"

"No," Harry said, before taking Draco's face in both hands and kissing him soundly.

* * *

Author's Note: BAM. Nice work, Harry, and excellent job building the suspense by waiting until midnight to grow a pair. Guess we'll have to wait until Chapter April to find out what happened at 12:01.

As for you, sweet George, sleep well and drink plenty of water.

:-)


	9. April

You guys. I am still blushing and snickering and thinking and grinning from your comments. Because you are awesome:

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_By Neverbird_

April

* * *

Draco's lips were as soft and yielding as Harry had remembered, and a tingling ache bloomed below his abdomen. He stepped back, reluctantly, his heart hammering in his chest.

Draco looked entirely dumbfounded. "Oh," he said finally, eyes wide. He opened his mouth and shut it again.

"Do you want me to leave?" Harry asked tentatively, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. His hair was damp, the bottoms of his trousers were muddy, and he was beginning to feel queasy with nerves. Nonetheless, he kept his eyes fixed on Draco.

"No," Draco absently rubbed his cheek, nodding faintly. "You should come in."

Draco stepped to the side, and Harry walked into his flat for the first time since the night of the Yule Ball. He shuffled his feet awkwardly on the mat, wondering if he should take off his rain-soaked shoes to avoid leaving dirt on Draco's pristine rug. Or would removing his shoes come off as somehow presumptuous? The dilemma left him paralyzed in the entryway.

Draco glanced back at him. "It's fine."

"Thanks." He smiled shyly. "So, I'm here."

Draco's expression was guarded. "Right. So you got pissed at the stag do, I take it, and now you're gay again for the evening. That about the sum of it?"

"No," Harry said fervently, "That isn't – God, Draco. I'm not drunk. I'm painfully sober, actually. I don't mean the kiss was painful," he amended quickly. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm awful at this." He exhaled. "Okay. The kiss was brilliant. I'm here because I want you to forgive me and I want you to give me another chance, and I'm not going to cock it up this time. And I really, really fancy you, Draco." He sighed. "I don't care if it makes me gay. I don't care if it's in the papers. Okay?"

Something flickered in Draco's gray eyes, but he didn't speak.

"I'm sorry," added Harry, his voice muted, "I can go."

"No, it's – give me a minute." The corners of Draco's mouth turned upwards slightly. "Don't go."

Harry couldn't help but grin. "Yeah?"

"I didn't say you were forgiven yet." Draco smirked, but his eyes carried a certain exposed softness that Harry had never seen before. "What you did, Harry, the way you reacted was -"

"Cowardly," interjected Harry, vehemently, shaking his head. "I'm ashamed of it. I feel as though I can't even call myself a Gryffindor anymore, I'm such a prat."

"I've never viewed the terms 'Gryffindor' and 'prat' as mutually exclusive."

Harry burst out laughing. "Fair enough, then. You get to have a go at Gryffindor today. I've earned it."

"You've earned it," Draco agreed, taking a step closer. Harry looked up at him, his expression both sheepish and nakedly hopeful.

"Draco, I'm so sorry. I can't even - "

"Merlin. Potter," Draco interrupted, smiling widely, "Shut up." Calmly, and without hesitation, he took the last two steps toward Harry, taking both hands in his own.

"Make me," Harry whispered into the disappearing space between their lips. His breath hitched.

"Done," replied Draco, leaning forward.

* * *

It went without saying that I had never made such excellent use of a school holiday. The next three days passed in a haze of kissing and sleeping and talking and coffee, with no reason to venture outside other than to traverse the short distance between our flats. It was the most remarkable change I had ever experienced. A week ago, I was wondering if there was a way to avoid seeing Harry Potter's face on magazine covers for the rest of my life; now, I was growing accustomed to the warmth of his chest and the soft pressure of his arms encircling my waist. I had never realized I was capable of such limitless joy.

I woke up Saturday to the sound of Harry's stomach growling; he was sprawled across my bed, bare-chested and blanketless, still asleep. I let my hand rest on his bare stomach, inches above the waist of his pajama trousers. Harry smiled sleepily and rolled toward me without opening his eyes, and my hand drifted across his waist. His lips were slightly parted, his black eyelashes fanned across the tops of his flushed cheeks.

I had been wrong about so many things when I was younger, but I had been right to want this.

His eyes slid open for a moment. "_Accio_ glasses," he murmured, burrowing his face into the crook of my neck. His spectacles lifted themselves off the nightstand, moved an arm's length, and hovered expectantly in the air above us. He swiped his hand up to grab them.

"You are quite possibly the laziest person ever," I pronounced, pulling him close and kissing him. I felt him smile against my mouth.

He rolled his body back to a supine position, lacing his fingers through mine and resting our interlocked hands over his heart. He tucked his other hand behind his head and sighed dreamily.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked, rolling my head toward him.

"Mmmhmm," he said, "I think your bed is comfier than mine."

"I think you'll have to stay here, then."

"I think you're right," he replied. He grinned at me, trailing his fingers around the band of my watch. "Hey," he remarked, sitting up suddenly, "I just noticed. You don't have a Dark Mark."

I felt myself grow tense. "No, I do." I rotated my arm toward him. "It's faded – it changed when he died."

Harry was quiet for a moment, studying it. "It's barely more than a scar."

I didn't reply. Gently, he touched his fingers to my forearm and traced the length of it.

"You didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," I replied, softly.

How to explain it? During the reign of the Dark Lord, every aspect of my life had been filtered through a lens of terror, and every decision felt like an act of desperation. When the war ended, it was if a bright light had been switched on, the enormity of my actions and choices at once starkly apparent. It took my breath away; everything had progressed so subtly that I had become a monster without ever realizing it. In all honesty, I lost the plot for a year or two.

I didn't like thinking about the Dark Mark and all it signified. It didn't feel like who I was, not anymore, but it was carved into my flesh all the same; it would follow me the rest of my life. I guess a part of me was grateful for that. I would never forget, and I would never travel that road again.

Harry released my arm and rolled on top of me, burying his face into my shoulder. I felt his lips move against my skin as he murmured something I couldn't quite hear.

"Come again?"

He lifted his head slightly, meeting my eyes. "It's nothing," he said, blushing deeply.

"Now I really want to know."

"I'm really hungry," remarked Harry, ham-fistedly changing the subject. He leaned down to kiss me, and I pulled his body in close, hugging him tightly and inhaling scent of his hair. He breathed against me, wordlessly, and neither of us was willing to move.

* * *

Hermione had, on occasion, heard Harry tell about the thousands of envelopes that fought their way to him years ago to deliver his Hogwarts acceptance letter. The mental image had always made her smile; less charming, however, was the critical mass of stationary that had been achieved in her own dining room.

It wasn't as simple as invitations and envelopes, as it turned out. There were little response cards, which came fitted with their own miniature envelopes, as well as inserts containing information about travel and lodgings. Of each of these, there was the wizard version and the Muggle version, all painstakingly stacked into separate piles across the length of the table. They all needed to be tucked into each other, some stamped and some not stamped, and each one addressed according to wizarding or Muggle etiquette, as the case may be. Hermione, who until now had been notably relaxed about all things pertaining to the wedding, was feeling her blood pressure rise.

"Ron, look at what you're doing!" she cried.

"What?"

"You're putting a wizard response card in with a Muggle invitation!"

"Huh? Oops," Ron remarked, evidently untroubled, "Out with you." He put the rejected card off to the side, and summoned the proper one from the other end of the table.

"You've got to be more careful, Ron. Imagine what my relatives would think, getting that."

Ron grinned at the card he had just discarded, which included a request to reply by owl, and to an address that didn't exist at that. "I reckon they'd think you'd gone a bit soft in the head. Love will do that."

"Yes, well, I'd rather not give my Grandma Rose a heart attack, if it's all right with you."

"Hermione," Ron reached out his arm to massage the nape of her neck. "Relax, okay? It's going to be fine. Actually, it's going to be perfect."

She inhaled deeply, and then sighed. "I know. I'm just – ahh. I'm sorry. It's just a bit frightening, is all. I've gotten so used to keeping things separate."

"It's a little exciting though, isn't it? The two worlds combining…"

Hermione buried her face in her hands. "Right now, it's just… I don't know if I'm just tired from last night, but everything feels so stressful."

"What do you reckon might go wrong?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," she reflected, "Just – I just know that someone will slip up, and do or say something that Muggles shouldn't know about."

Ron scooted his chair closer to her. "But Muggles see what they want to see – you know that. Honestly," he challenged, "Say you're a Muggle, and someone casts a charm right in front of you. What would you think? That there's a whole world of magic hidden in plain sight?"

"No," Hermione admitted, smiling weakly.

"Exactly," said Ron. "Your brain would turn it into something it could comprehend, right? You'd think you had seen some kind of electrified Muggle thingamajig, and you wouldn't give it another thought."

"I know. You're right."

Ron nodded sagely. "People have pulled off mixed blood weddings for centuries," he said firmly. "We've got nothing to worry about. And anyway, our friends will be discreet because they know it's important to us. Even if they bungle it up, we know them all so well that we know exactly what to prepare for." He grinned. "At this point, what could any of them do or say that would surprise us?"

As if on cue, there was a knock at their door.

"It's Harry," Hermione announced, spying him through the peephole. She opened the door, beaming. "Come in!"

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Not at all," she hugged him. "We were just doing wedding invitations, and it's the perfect time for a break. Can I get you anything?"

"Oh, uh, no thanks," Harry shook his head, seeming distracted. "Um, how was the hen night?"

"Great, thanks. They talked me into going dancing, actually," she yawned, "It ended up being really fun."

Ron sauntered into the entryway. "Hi, mate. Are you here to rescue us from the invitations?"

"Yes?" Harry guessed.

Ron bumped his fist. "Brilliant. Come on in, then. Can I get you anything?"

"Oh – no thanks," Harry replied, following Ron and Hermione into the living room. Ron slid onto the sofa, sinking lazily into a cushion with his arms tucked behind his head. Hermione settled in beside him, while Harry arranged himself stiffly into a plush armchair, facing them. A woolly red blanket had been draped over the back of the chair, and Harry fidgeted absently with its tassels, feeling awkward. "So, uh, wedding stuff is good?"

"Oh, it's fine," Hermione said, smiling wryly and shrugging. Ron snorted.

"That's great." Harry nodded enthusiastically, but seemed at a loss for what to say next.

Hermione regarded him curiously. "Are you all right, Harry?" she asked, after a moment.

"What?"

"You seem a bit on edge."

Harry wrung his hands together and took a deep breath. "I'm dating someone," he blurted, cheeks reddening deeply. He met Hermione's eyes. "I wanted you guys to know."

"Oh yeah?" Ron perked up, pulling himself into a seated posture, "Good for you, mate. Are you going to tell us who it is?"

Harry nodded slowly, eyes trained on the floor. "It's Draco."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione smiled warmly, "That's wonderful."

Ron regarded Harry, smiling expectantly as though waiting for the punchline.

"So now you know," Harry concluded, a bit breathlessly.

An incredulous giggle escaped Ron's lips. "You're not serious?" he asked.

"Stop it, Ron," Hermione said sharply, "This is important."

"But Harry's not… you're not actually _gay_, are you, mate?" He shook his head, looking flummoxed.

Harry appeared nearly as bewildered as Ron. "I don't know," he replied, rubbing his cheek with the heel of his hand. "I fancy Draco, so," he shrugged, "I guess so?'"

Hermione crossed the room to hug him. "Harry, we love you, and we're so happy for you."

"Yeah, thanks, Hermione," Harry peered over her shoulder, his eyes finding Ron's. Ron regarded him, wide-eyed and evidently speechless.

"I don't need your approval," Harry informed him tersely.

"Harry, I'm just…," Ron blinked, "Just give me, like, a second to get used to this. So, you're dating Draco Malfoy." He shook his head in astonishment. "Blimey, Harry, you never do things halfway, do you?"

"I try not to." Harry smiled sheepishly at Ron, who gave a crooked smile in return. "Cheers, Ron."

"Don't mention it."

A sniff from the other end of the sofa caught their attention, and they both turned toward Hermione. "You two are lovely," she said, smiling wetly. She tucked her head into the crook of Ron's shoulder and sighed fondly.

"Hey," mused Ron, "I think Draco Malfoy is going to help me get lucky."

"Ron!" Hermione yelped, blushing madly and thumping him in the head with a pillow.

"And if he can get me lucky, imagine what he'll do for Harry," he couldn't resist adding, collapsing into a giggling heap on the sofa.

"Shall I?" Hermione asked Harry, holding the pillow aloft again over Ron's head.

"Yes. Please," Harry replied, "Brutally."

* * *

So far, it had been a rainy spring, but the students were in good spirits; the weather had only inspired them to uncover new and inventive indoor nooks for snogging and other clandestine diversions. Thursday night evening patrols had effectively turned into a game of hide and seek. Before the Easter holiday, I had found it mildly amusing. Now, patrolling alongside Harry, it was clear that the time spent catching students groping would be better spent groping each other.

"Oh, come on," Harry sighed, shining a light from his wand into a dark corner, where a pair of sixth years had barely bothered to hide behind a suit of armor. "We _just _caught you two upstairs. Out with you, and that's another ten points from Ravenclaw. Cheeky little gits," he concluded under his breath, as they scurried away holding hands.

I watched him as he huffed, unable to help myself from laughing.

"And _you_, Malfoy, are no help whatsoever." He jabbed a finger to my chest, lips twitching until a full grin broke across his face. I looked down at my chest, back into his eyes, and smiled lazily.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi." His fingertips traced slowly around the button clasp of my robes. He bit his lip.

"The fourth door on the right is a broomcloset," I informed him.

He grabbed my hand, and within moments, we were kissing against a stack of dusty broomsticks in near-pitch darkness. My heart pounded; his hands were cupping my cheeks, and then they had slid down to my shoulders, and then they had laced around my back. My entire body felt lit. I leaned closer, chest to chest and hips to hips, fabric sliding against fabric.

There was the faint sound of laughter in the stairwell, followed by the dull thud of a door shutting. The sound of footsteps moving toward us down the corridor caused us to freeze in our tracks, lips still pressed against each other.

"But we won't get caught, right?" The voice, though muted, sounded as though it was coming from directly outside our broomcloset. "Ella said they just ran into Potter and Malfoy, like, right around here, and they lost house points."

Harry buried his face in the crook of my neck, and I felt him shake with suppressed laughter.

"If Ella and Damien were snogging in plain sight, they deserved to be caught," declared a second voice from the corridor. They were close enough that the bottoms of their shoes were visible underneath the door. "I'm almost positive that one of these is a broomcloset."

Harry's pulled his head up suddenly, wide eyes meeting mine.

There was a giggle. "Okay."

"_Colloportus?_" I suggested silently.

"No_,_" mouthed Harry,"_Defigo_." Then, leaning in close, he whispered, "They know _Alohomora_, but we haven't covered _Effringo _yet." I nodded, watching as he cast the spell silently and wandlessly. Despite his fame, Harry was so unassuming when you knew him that his magical expertise had a way of catching you off guard. In all honestly, it was absurdly attractive.

"I think it's this one, but I can't get it open," we heard our would-be snogger proclaim through the door, "Reckon there's always the stairwells, though." In the dim light, I could make out Harry rolling his eyes behind his spectacles.

Their footsteps faded, and Harry and I collapsed into hushed laughter. "Kind of makes you wonder what our professors were doing behind closed doors," he sighed, shuddering. He paused, turning his ear to the door. "I think the coast is clear."

"Or else we'll really be coming out of the closet," I pointed out. Harry snickered.

"You know," he said suddenly, meeting my eyes, "I told Ron and Hermione about us."

"Really?"

"I hope that's okay." He grinned at me. "I wanted to do this properly this time."

"Well." I kissed him gently. "I told my parents about you."

"What?" He looked stunned and pleased. "When?"

"On Easter."

"Wow," he replied, beaming. "They must have been thrilled."

"Especially my father." I laughed.

* * *

"I still can't believe you told them," Harry said, as they lingered outside the Potions classroom. He leaned against the wall, looking up at Draco. "I wonder how my parents would have reacted."

When Draco smiled, Harry felt the corners of his own lips tug upward automatically. "I have a feeling they would have been fine with it," Draco said, "Your mother, definitely."

Harry smiled uncomprehendingly. "What makes you think so?"

Draco pursed his lips. "Just a hunch." Harry gave him an odd look.

"Did Granger and Weasley take it okay?" asked Draco, easily shifting the subject.

"Hermione really seemed happy for us, and Ron – I think Ron's coming around to the idea. Took him a minute to get used to it, I guess."

"That's because Weasley wants me." Draco's smug smile was so reminiscent of the schoolboy Harry remembered that he felt a sudden wistful pull in his chest.

"Oh, does he?" Harry grinned up at Draco. "He can't have you."

For the millionth time that evening, Harry wished fervently that he could just disappear into Draco's chambers for the evening and leave the students to fend for themselves. It was maddening, really. Out of the dozens of Thursday evenings on-call, Harry had only been sought out by students after hours a handful of times. It was almost a foregone conclusion that he would be undisturbed this evening – but "almost" was a funny word. Harry was a great believer in Sod's Law, so he knew that deserting his chambers would ensure that a parade of emergencies would arrive at his doorstep.

"Rest assured that I have absolutely no interest in having it off with Ron Weasley."

Suddenly, the air felt charged, and Harry's surroundings seemed to disappear. There was only Draco and his soft, gray eyes. In the dim candlelight of the dungeons, Draco looked almost otherworldly.

"What about," Harry's heart pounded, "Have you ever thought about having it off with me?"

In moments like this, it was easier to study Draco's hair than to look in his eyes. Harry had never truly appreciated how very blond it was, or the way it curved around his ears.

"All the time," Draco said softly. He looked away, smiling faintly.

Harry wanted so badly to kiss him. The Potions classroom was quite private; he was almost certain that there were no students around.

Almost. Almost.

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "So, maybe we should do that sometime?"

"Maybe we should," Draco agreed. He smiled nonchalantly, but the expression in his eyes was entirely earnest. Draco moved to lean against the wall beside Harry, and for a moment, they stayed like that, letting the silence of the dungeons surround them. Harry would never have thought there would come a time when he could hardly bear to pull himself away from the Potions classroom, but here he was.

"I guess I'll see you at breakfast," Draco said finally, smiling wryly.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry grumbled good-naturedly, "I'm off." He peeled himself off of the dungeon wall and readjusted his spectacles.

"Goodnight, Harry. And don't let anyone get away with snogging in the corridors."

"Oh, believe me, I won't," declared Harry - but he was promptly interrupted by the firm pressure of Draco's lips against his own. Then, just as suddenly, Draco disappeared into his chambers, leaving Harry staring after him in a happy daze.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Drs. David and Helen Granger

and

Mr. and Mrs. Arthur and Molly Weasley

Invite you to share in our joy as we witness the marriage of our children

Hermione Jean

and

Ronald Bilius

Saturday, the twenty-sixth of June

Half past five in the evening

A.D. Athletic Fields, Scotland

*Transportation will be provided from the Inverness Railway Station*

_Drs. David and Helen Granger_

_and_

_Mr. and Mrs. Arthur and Molly Weasley_

_Invite you to share in our joy as we witness the marriage of our children_

_Hermione Jean_

_and_

_Ronald Bilius_

_Saturday, the twenty-sixth of June_

_Half past five in the evening_

_The Albus Dumbledore University Quidditch Fields, Hogsmeade_

_*Your assistance in keeping this wedding Muggle-friendly is greatly appreciated!*_

* * *

Author's Note: And you guys are ALL invited to this wedding.


	10. May

****Thanks, readers, for the follows, favorites, and kind words! They seriously make me feel giddy. I feel pretty honored to be punkydoodle's first Harry/Draco fic, for example. Tenshi-Yami, can we be Drarry fangirl students together, sneaking through the corridors and spying on those lovely dudes?

Just a few more chapters left after this: June, and then July is an epilogue. I'm already feeling kind of sad about it, but I tried to make these last few chapters extra fun. Enjoy!

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_by Neverbird_

May

* * *

"Does this look okay?" Harry tugged at the collar of his newly purchased dress robes.

Draco's reflection appeared behind him in the mirror, and Harry turned to face him, making a futile attempt to smooth down his hair.

"Perfect. Don't be nervous."

"I'd rather not completely embarrass you." Harry turned back to the mirror and grimaced self-consciously. It was pointless, really. His hair had already sprung back into its usual mayhem.

"Hello there, handsome," the mirror said coyly. "Let's have a look at those gorgeous gray eyes." Harry's mirror evidently fancied Draco, which was not entirely surprising but entirely annoying. Draco winked at the mirror as he smoothly fastened his buttons. He always seemed so at ease in formal dress, as opposed to Harry, who had somehow managed to get the back of his robes tucked up into his underpants - twice.

When the invitation for the gala had arrived, it came with a catalog of guidelines governing apparition, evidently designed to make the portkeys seem convenient by comparison. "Is it always like this?" Harry had asked, surprised that a British Potions Society event required quite this level of security.

With an amused smile, Draco had replied, "It is when they're expecting Harry Potter."

"Seriously? I'm not even a member of the Society. All of this because you're bringing me as a date?"

"They don't even know we're dating," Draco pointed out. "They just know you're coming."

The nearest portkey had been placed outside of Potage's, and the evening air felt refreshing as they walked there from Harry's flat. It deposited them in a softly lit entryway that opened into an opulent and extravagantly decorated ballroom. It was the sort of setting that left Harry feeling self-conscious and tongue-tied. All around him, witches and wizards in expensive looking robes were shaking hands and carrying sophisticated looking drinks, and generally looking important. There were several people he recognized from the newspapers, including a few witches he thought might have been on the Harpies with Ginny. Everyone in the room seemed to recognize him, and many approached him with such familiarity that he thought he must know them from somewhere. It was one of those things about being Harry Potter that he never got used to.

"Should we find our seats?" Draco asked, and Harry nodded gratefully. They had been seated at a table with Draco's former colleagues, who were generally older, scholarly, and refreshingly unfashionable. Harry would have picked them to sit with out of all of the elegant people in the room, though he was surprised to find that their table was in the front and center of the ballroom. Several feet away, there was a stage with sleek wooden floors and a podium, draped with velvet in the British Potions Society's official colors.

Food appeared in artful arrangements on their plates, and quiet music played while everyone ate. Harry had gotten into a conversation with one of Draco's former mentors about some of the early versions of the Homogamete Philter, and was surprised to find that he was beginning to enjoy himself. The food was delicious, as long as Harry managed to avoid anything green or healthy, and the wine was possibly the best he had ever tasted. Most of all, he loved the soft pressure of Draco's thigh secretly pressed against his own under the table.

As the plates were finally cleared, a petite, wispy-haired wizard took to the podium, murmuring a simple charm that amplified his voice and suffused the stage in light. The lights of the ballroom dimmed, and the guests' chatter quieted to a dull murmur.

"Hello everyone, and welcome," greeted the wizard, his voice surprisingly commanding, "For those who don't know me, I'm Libatius Borage. As president and founder of the British Potions Society, it is my honor and pleasure to welcome you tonight." He paused to receive polite applause. "This is, of course, no ordinary gala. Tonight, we are gathered to celebrate the successful development of a life-changing potion, and to honor those whose vision, courage, and dedication have turned the impossible into a reality. It is with tremendous pride that I announce to you that, after years of research, development, and clinical trials, the Homogamete Philter will be available to the public beginning this summer."

He had not yet reached the end of his sentence before the room had exploded into enthusiastic applause. Harry turned to Draco and grinned widely. So, this was why Draco had seemed so keen on Harry accompanying him to this gala. The event was dedicated to the Philter. Maybe Draco would even get some type of recognition.

"So, without further ado," announced Borage, "I have the pleasure of introducing you to Valmai Morgan, formerly of the Holyhead Harpies."

Valmai Morgan toddled onto the stage, clearly heavily pregnant in artfully layered dress robes. "Hi," she greeted, grinning at the crowd, her frizzy hair barely tamed into an updo. There was another flare of applause along with a round of lusty cheers from a nearby table of athletic looking witches. "So, I'm not good at speeches, and I don't know a thing about potions, but since I begged Libatius to let me do this..." Her audience laughed readily. "No, really, I had to beg him, and then I had to promise not to go into labor in the middle of my speech." There was more laughter. "I'm hoping very much to keep that promise." She gave Borage a cheeky smile.

"But I had to be here. I had to be a part of this." Her tone grew earnest, and the audience quieted. "Six years ago, after the war ended, there was a sudden, long overdue call for equality and social justice the wizarding world. There was this amazing, powerful momentum that transformed us from a society where Muggleborn witches and wizards were hunted, to a society in which bloodline equality became the central principal taught in wizarding primary schools." She paused to allow this statement to receive its share of applause.

"At the same time, another movement was gaining traction. Twenty years ago, there was no gay and lesbian community in the wizarding world. Ten years ago, that community's existence was a little known secret. But," she grinned, "In the years since the war, that community, my community, has become visible. Joined by our allies, we have advocated for the basic protections and rights that straight witches and wizards have enjoyed for centuries. Last April, in our biggest victory yet, the Ministry of Magic granted gay British witches and wizards the right to marry. A month later, Samantha, my partner of six years, became my wife." The applause hit a crescendo. "Thank you," she grinned. "Which brings me to our purpose here today: the Homogamete Philter. The product of twenty-five years of ingenuity and hard work. _Twenty-five years_," she repeated. "It's amazing, right? We actually have a potion that can create a zygote – create a _baby_ – from two of the same type of sex cell. And it works!" She gestured to her swollen stomach, eliciting laughter. "My daughter could have my eyes and Sam's hair," she said, shrugging. "And she better hope she has Sam's hair," she added drily. "It's such a small thing, something straight couples take for granted. But to us, it's a miracle."

"But the Philter is more than just the latest advancement in reproductive technology," Valmai said, "It's a show of courage and a gift of love from the scientific community to the gay community." She smiled wetly. "And it's absolutely mind-blowing to think that the earliest blueprint for the potion was created by a heterosexual witch twenty-five years ago, before there was a gay wizarding community." A charged, focused silence swept over the ballroom. Valmai rubbed her belly and continued. "Twenty-five years ago, Lily Potter was newly married, pregnant, and known to be among the most brilliant Potions students of her generation."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. His mum?

He turned incredulously to meet Draco's twinkling eyes. "Surprise," mouthed Draco. Harry was dumbfounded. The Homogamete Philter had been invented by his mum. His heart swelled; he could barely focus on Valmai Morgan's speech. His mum would never get to meet Draco. She would never know that Harry was gay, and yet he felt as though she had reached out to hug him. His eyes prickled, but he couldn't stop smiling.

"We may never know the identities of the mysterious 'M' and 'P' who inspired Lily's work," Valmai concluded, "But it hardly matters now. The important thing is that, from the start, the Philter was an act of love: Lily's love for her friends, and the love and commitment of all of those who have worked to make her vision a reality. I never had the chance to meet Lily Potter, but I am so very grateful to her. Tonight, we honor her legacy through her son Harry, who is here with us this evening. Harry Potter, I invite you now to accept this plaque on behalf of your mother, a brilliant, courageous witch whose work has inspired us and enriched our lives."

There was an eruption of applause, louder than ever before, and all around Harry, wizards and witches were rising to their feet. Harry normally hated attention, but he felt giddy and electrified and so very moved. Draco squeezed his knee lightly under the table, and the next thing Harry knew, he was on the stage hugging a massively pregnant lesbian former Quidditch star and fighting back tears. She handed him a large wooden plaque, plated with gold, and inscribed with his mother's name. "Do you want to give a speech?" Valmai asked under her breath. "I know you didn't have a chance to prepare."

Harry did, in fact, want to give a speech, which may have been the most startling development of all. He stepped up to the podium and surveyed the ballroom. The witches and wizards who had seemed so elegant and intimidating a few hours earlier seemed as warm and friendly as family. How had he not noticed his former professor Slughorn was here? Seated in the back near the bar, his hands resting atop his vast belly, he gave Harry a friendly nod.

Harry's eyes then fell upon his own table, where Draco was looking up at him with a proud half-smile and eyes so tender that his heart almost skipped. He grinned at Draco, looked down at the podium, and then back out to his audience.

"Hi," he greeted, slightly startled by the amplified sound of his own voice, "I'm Harry Potter, and Lily Potter was my mum." He paused. "Thank you all for being here. I just wanted to say how proud I am of my mum. This means so much to me. You can't imagine." He took a deep breath. Was he really about to do this? "My mother died when I was a baby," Harry continued, as though this was news to anyone, "So there's no way she could have known that I … am gay. So maybe one day my mum's Philter will help me give her a grandchild."

There was a beat of stunned silence, followed by a collective gasp, followed by the sudden flash of cameras, followed by a deafening roar of applause. Blushing from head to toe, Harry rode it out by keeping his eyes fixed on the podium. When the noise died down, Harry looked up nervously, his eyes instinctively finding Draco. Draco raised his eyebrows at him and grinned.

"Thank you again, really," Harry said, before Valmai enfolded him into another hug, and he shuffled back to his table. There was a barrage of flashbulbs as he approached his seat, smiling uncertainly at Draco.

Draco looked at him, his gray eyes still lit with such tenderness that Harry thought he might lean in to kiss him. As the onslaught of photography continued, Draco took Harry's hand and gently laced their fingers together. After years of avoiding media attention, it occurred to Harry that he had just given the newspapers at least a month's worth of headlines. Funny, but he hardly cared at all.

* * *

POTTER: "I'M GAY"

By Betty Braithwaite, for the_ Daily Prophet_

Harry Potter brewed up quite a surprise for guests at Saturday's British Potions Society gala. While accepting an award on behalf of his late mother, Harry Potter announced to the two hundred guests in attendance that he is gay. He was later spotted holding hands with former schoolmate Draco Malfoy, who is currently employed alongside Potter as a Hogwarts professor. Reports that they are exclusively dating have not yet been confirmed.

The news has devastated witches across Britain, and indeed, the entire wizarding world. "I can't believe it," stated Madam Puddifoot's employee Alice Stambrooke, fighting back tears, "It's not that I expected to end up with him, but now there's no chance!" Across Britain, groups of young witches plan to wear black on Wednesday as a statement of mourning. Additionally, small groups of religious protestors have organized outside of Hogwarts and the British Potions Society's London headquarters.

Representatives of the gay and lesbian community, on the other hand, have been vocal in their support for Potter. The Magical Inclusivity and Equality Initiative, a gay and transgender rights advocacy group, released an official statement noting, "Potter is to be celebrated for his courage and his willingness to use his celebrity status to advocate for the advancement of equality." The statement went on to highlight the contributions of Lily Potter, Harry's mother, noting that the event Potter was attending was a gala honoring Lily for her contributions to the Homogamete Philter (a new potion that assists same-sex couples in conceiving children linked genetically to both parents).

Potter and Malfoy were unavailable for comment at the time of press.

* * *

HARRY POTTER AND DRACO MALFOY: TRUE LOVE OR ILLICIT LOVE POTION?

Once famously private about his love life, The Boy Who Lived sent shockwaves through the wizarding community with his announcement on Saturday that he is a homosexual, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent for Witch Weekly_. Potter's declaration was made during a speech he presented for the British Potions Society, a group notorious for its socially progressive politics and connections to influential homosexual wizarding leaders. Potter was then seen holding hands with former Death Eater Draco Malfoy, and one anonymous source noted that the pair left early, "off to have a shag, no doubt."

Malfoy, once a member of You Know Who's elite inner circle, currently teaches Potions and Sexual Studies to children as young as eleven at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While Hogwarts' Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was unavailable for comment explaining this controversial appointment, one can only speculate that the recent expansion of the Hogwarts Quidditch program may have been underwritten by the Malfoy family estate. Malfoy was hired at Hogwarts after spending five years researching and developing reproductive potions for the homosexual wizarding community.

Word of Harry Potter's announcement traveled rapidly through an astonished magical community. While liberal extremists were quick to proclaim their support for Potter and Malfoy's sexual relationship, other citizens noted that Saturday's surprise declaration left several unanswered questions. To begin, Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world, has shown no signs of homosexual leanings in the past, and in fact dated former Quidditch star Ginny Weasley for over two years. When asked to comment on Potter's sudden shift, Weasley stated, "My family and I support Harry completely, and I suggest that you mind your own [expletive redacted] business." Appearing flushed, she went on to state that she "loves" Potter; when asked to comment on Malfoy, she described him as "quite intelligent, really."

Indeed, Malfoy's cleverness has been noted by many, and his talent with potions is widely acknowledged. Some experts have pointed out that Harry Potter's sudden self-identification as a homosexual and his uncharacteristic openness about his relationship fit the exact profile of a victim of love potions. "There's no question that Malfoy has the ability to make a powerful love potion," commented Romilda Vane, who attended school with both Potter and Malfoy and knows them intimately, "Is he the sort of person who would do that? I'd say definitely."

It is well known that You Know Who's birth was the result of love potion trickery. Clearly, those who care about The Boy Who Lived's well being have good cause to be concerned.

* * *

"Is someone knocking?" Draco asked sleepily.

Harry rubbed his eyes, yawning, and pawed on the night table for his glasses. Squinting through them, he yawned again and stretched into a sitting position, running a hand through his rumpled hair. "Mmm," he said, sighing. He slid off the bed, tugging his undershirt down over the waistband of his pajama trousers.

The knocking persisted, growing more urgent. "Harry, it's us. Can we come in?"

Harry swung open the door and let Ron and Hermione inside, scratching the back of his neck in drowsy confusion. "Hi," he greeted, another yawn breaking through.

"Harry, we came as soon as we saw the papers," Hermione said, hugging him tightly.

Ron placed a hand on his shoulder. "All right, Harry?" he asked, voice tinged with concern.

"What are you two on about?" Harry managed, blinking vacantly.

"I'm going to make some coffee," decided Hermione, disappearing into the kitchen.

Ron looked at Harry. "Okay," he said, "I don't want to freak you out or anything, but… oh, hi, Malfoy." Ron blushed.

"Weasley," Draco greeted, nodding pleasantly. He had changed into trousers and a fitted tee-shirt, his eyes bright and his hair freshly combed. Harry's face broke into a shy smile when he saw him.

"Erm, so, there's been a bit about you in the papers this morning," Ron blurted, wringing his hands together nervously.

"Ah," said Draco. He and Harry exchanged glances. "That didn't take long."

Harry bit his lip. "How bad is it?"

"Um," Ron replied, "Pretty bad."

Hermione returned from the kitchen, levitating four hot mugs of coffee. "Shall we sit?" she asked, her voice measured but upbeat. They gathered around the dining room table, settling in with their mugs.

"So, I don't know what you've seen yet," Hermione began.

"Nothing," Harry replied. "I'll be getting the _Prophet_, though." He grimaced. "I'm assuming we're front page news."

"That one's not so bad. Some of the others are awful, though," she admitted. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I figured it would be best if you heard it from us. And I wasn't sure if you would want to look at them, but I brought a few of them with me just in case."

"I'd like to see them," Draco replied evenly.

Hermione nodded, regarding him soberly. "Draco, I'm afraid they've come down hardest on you."

"To be expected." Draco shrugged, smiling lightly.

From her bag, Hermione produced a stack of newspapers and even a few magazines. "Okay, here are a few we managed to pick up on the way over. I'm guessing this is only the beginning, unfortunately." Harry leaned toward Draco to look over his shoulder. "POTTER A POOFTER," proclaimed the first headline in enormous, bold letters.

"Clever," Draco murmured sardonically. He thumbed through the stack, sighing.

For all that he had once dreaded this moment, Harry found himself fighting the urge to laugh. It was just so ridiculous, wasn't it? It had been less than twelve hours since Harry and Draco had left the gala, but it seemed that every reporter in Britain had felt compelled to weigh in overnight. He would never, ever stop being shocked at how much people cared about his personal life. The stories ranged from brief and factual to absurdly fabricated, but they all seemed to include the same photograph someone had caught of Harry and Draco as he was returning to his seat with his mother's plaque.

It was quite a photograph. They weren't even touching – Harry was pulling out his chair – but there was something in the way that they were looking at each other that made Harry blush even now. It wasn't that Harry had never seen two people looking at each other with such plainly evident infatuation – Merlin knows his students spent most of Defense Against the Dark Arts undressing each other with their eyes. But seeing such a besotted expression on his own face caught him entirely off guard.

"Oh, here's a good one," Ron scoffed, stabbing his finger under the headline, "GAY HARRY POTTER SHUNNED BY FRIENDS."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Where do they get this rubbish?"

Ron, who was now huffily reading the article, let out a noise that could only be described as an enraged squawk. "Sources close to Potter revealed that he has already been uninvited from the upcoming wedding of close friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger," he sputtered incredulously. He looked up at Harry, shaking his head slowly. "Those bloody bastards."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Hermione said, looking absolutely furious, "They're just completely making things up now."

"So, are you saying we can still come to the wedding?" Harry asked innocently, biting back a grin. He was always sort of tickled to hear Hermione swear.

"Only if you get us a really expensive gift," Ron said.

Hermione stood up, pacing. "This all makes me so angry, I can't even tell you. And now look – there's about a million owls waiting outside your window. Merlin knows that every bloody wizard in the world wants to say his piece. Howlers, too, I expect." She sighed heavily. "Harry, where do you keep your owl treats?"

"You're going to tip for howlers?"

"It's not the owls' fault, Ron!" Hermione huffed.

Within half an hour, they had developed a system to tackle the unrelenting parade of owls that presented themselves at Harry's window. Hermione skimmed each letter, passing along only the pleasant ones to Harry or Draco. The bad ones were passed to Ron, who was keeping a small flame blazing on the end of his wand and burning them with great pleasure. The howlers were opened and then ignored as best as they could manage. Nearly all of them were meant for Draco, who stoically endured homophobic rants, calls to resign from Hogwarts, and graphic speculation about his supposed career as Voldemort's willing sex slave. There seemed to be a tacit agreement among them to pretend they didn't hear any of it, but the four of them were blushing quite profoundly after the second or third howler had finished.

"We've been invited for brunch with Andromeda and Teddy next weekend," Harry said finally, after a protracted awkward silence.

"That should be nice," Draco replied.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and there stood Neville, carrying a tray of muffins and looking sheepish.

"Hi, Nev," Harry greeted, "I take it you saw the papers."

Neville smiled wryly. "And I heard the howlers. How are you holding up?"

Harry and Draco exchanged glances. "Okay, I think," Harry said, finally. "Work tomorrow will probably be interesting."

"Oh, good point," Hermione remarked, "I'll send an owl to McGonagall right now to make sure there's a plan in place to protect you – especially you, Draco."

"I hope that's not necessary," Draco said, "But thanks."

There was a loud pop coming from the corridor, followed by another knock. Ginny burst in, eyes swollen and cheeks stained with tears. "I'm the worst," she said miserably. "I'm so sorry." Staring shamefacedly at the floor, she levitated a copy of Witch Weekly's Special Edition ("_HOMO HARRY!"_) over to Draco, where it fell open to the relevant article.

"Love potions," Draco commented mildly, "Of course."

"I should never have agreed to give her a quote!" Ginny cried, sounding anguished. "I thought it would help to get our side of it out there, but I should have realized she would twist everything around."

"But that's not your fault," said Draco.

"It basically looks like I'm accusing you of being a sneaky bastard!"

"I see that you said I was intelligent. That's not a bad thing."

"I said loads of other stuff, too, but she left it all out. I said you were witty and kind and a good professor and all sorts of things. Rita Bloody Skeeter. I hate her so much. I'm so sorry, Draco." His eyes widened in surprise as she gave him a sudden hug, and only a minute later did he realize he had hugged her back.

"Is that someone else at the door?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Hiya, mates," greeted George, peering out from behind a large cardboard box. Lee Jordan stepped in behind him, awkwardly lugging what appeared to be an old Muggle record console. Their burdens promptly deposited in the entryway, they both revealed themselves to be wearing electric pink tee-shirts with bold black letters that read, "NOT SHUNNING HARRY POTTER."

"What do you think?" asked George, flexing his muscles for effect. He gestured to the cardboard box. "I've made up a couple hundred of these – they'll go on sale tomorrow in the shop, but they're free for people who stop by today." He grinned at Harry. "I hope it's okay that I invited a few friends around to your flat. Didn't want you to think you'd been shunned."

It wasn't yet nine in the morning, but within an hour, Harry's flat was packed with old and new friends, all in bright pink tee-shirts. George and Ginny took it upon themselves to feed the masses with an enormous stack of pancakes, while Lee Jordan had gotten a Muggle record started up in the background.

"Who is this?" Harry had asked.

Lee had chosen an album by a Muggle bloke named Marvin Gaye in honor of the occasion.

Harry and Draco managed to steal a moment to themselves in Harry's room. "This is happening fast, huh," Harry murmured, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

Draco stood before him in one of George's pink shirts, and took both of Harry's hands in his own. "Are you okay with all of it?"

Harry grinned up at him. "Actually, yeah. Are you?"

"Completely." Draco leaned down to kiss him briefly. On the other side of the door, there was a sudden burst of laughter as the song changed to a smooth, sexy sounding beat. Harry could only imagine what sort of pantomime George and Lee had decided to enact.

"Your friends are ridiculous," Draco said, smiling.

"Completely," agreed Harry. He loved them so dearly.

There was a polite knock on the bedroom door that, even before she spoke, was obviously Hermione. "Sorry to interrupt, but there's someone out here who wanted to see you."

Stealing one last kiss, they made their way back to the living room, their eyes immediately honing in on the incongruous tableau near the entryway.

"Draco, darling," Pansy Parkinson greeted mellifluously, "You could have told us."

Blaise Zabini, ignoring Harry entirely, waylaid Draco and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. "When Potter starts to bore you," he intoned suggestively, "Let me know."

"I'm not boring," Harry grumbled, after George had tempted Pansy and Blaise away with the promise of refreshments.

"No," Draco concurred, "You're not." He stepped closer to Harry and put his arm around his waist, and Harry leaned into him, sighing contentedly.

"Your friends are wearing pink tee-shirts and eating pancakes," Harry observed, after a moment.

"So they are."

"This is really happening." Harry grinned, and Draco hugged him closer.

* * *

Harry and I braced ourselves for wild adolescent curiosity on Monday, and our students did not disappoint. As we entered the Great Hall for breakfast, conversation seemed to stop abruptly for one charged moment. Then, just as quickly, the Hall was abuzz with hushed, excited murmurs. It wasn't the first time I had walked into a room to feel every eye pulled toward me – the first day back at Hogwarts my seventh year came to mind, though the present audience appeared more fascinated than hostile. Nonetheless, I felt the same prickle of self-consciousness I remembered so well. I glanced at Harry, who was fidgeting uncomfortably with the sleeve of his robes.

"Good morning," Neville greeted calmly, as we arrived at our table.

Harry poured himself a mug of coffee and sipped it distractedly, blushing as a dozen students tried to catch his eye. He turned back to Neville and me abruptly.

"Did we miss the owls?" he asked, biting his lip. "Any howlers?"

"McGonagall's not allowing any," Neville assured him. "I mean, obviously she can't make a howler disappear, but she's redirecting everything back to your flats."

I felt a rush of relief. I'd spent the morning convincing myself I didn't care, but the thought of enduring a howler in front of my students had honestly made me feel a bit sick.

Breakfast felt like a performance. When it ended, and I felt hundreds of nosy eyes watching as Harry and I murmured a strictly verbal goodbye before morning classes.

"A part of me wants to have a snog right now, just to see the looks on their faces," Harry said under his breath, smiling impishly.

I raised my eyebrows. "A part of me wants to have a snog right now just because." We exchanged grins.

When I arrived to set up my classroom for the second year Gryffindors and Slytherins, I was surprised to find that the entire class had arrived early and were quietly waiting for me in their seats. "Good morning," I greeted, regarding them suspiciously.

My eye was then drawn to the chalkboard, where someone had sketched an impressively detailed likeness of me bending and sticking my bum out, and looking coyly over my shoulder to say, "Harry Potter, cum and get it!"

There was a moment when I could only stare at my students' excited, guilty faces in stunned bewilderment. Hushed laughter faded to silence, and I felt my face grow warm and my chest tighten with anger. I watched as nervous glances were quickly transmitted across the rows. No one met my eyes.

Would I have been so bold at age twelve? Okay, quite possibly I would have, but even then I'd have known how very simple it would be for a professor to use magical fingerprinting to identify the artist of such a cartoon. It was so simultaneously daft and cheeky that it had to be a Gryffindor, and this was speaking as someone so stupidly in love with a Gryffindor that I could barely think straight.

My Gryffindor, in fact, would probably find this picture hysterical; it would actually be a crime not to save it to show him during the midmorning break. My anger dissipated, and I found myself biting back a smile.

It was hard to say what sort of reaction my students had expected, but evidently they hadn't figured on my leaving the cartoon on the chalkboard in its full crude glory and proceeding with the day's lesson. Happily for them, it was a double lesson, so they had the pleasure of seeing their masterpiece on display over my shoulder for a full two hours. Never before had I seen a roomful of students appear so unnerved and uncomfortable.

Harry, as predicted, nearly choked with laughter at the sight of my chalkboard. "Draco, it's so beautiful."

"I know. I'm thinking of having it as a tattoo."

"On your arse, I hope. Anyway," he added, leaning in for a kiss, "Have you seen the seventh years?"

I shook my head. "No, why?"

"I guess you'll see at lunch," Harry replied, mysteriously. We stole another quick kiss before Harry departed for his classroom, and I charmed my chalkboard clean.

Though I had steeled myself for the next round of inquiring minds, I got a surprising reprieve during my lesson with the fourth year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, thanks to a thrilling incident with bubotuber pus in Herbology class. From the excited chatter and one very moving reenactment, I gathered that Rhys MacFarlan had probably learned a valuable lesson about removing his protective gloves before scratching his bum.

Class ended at lunchtime, with everyone still in high spirits. With the exquisite compassion fifteen-year-olds are known for, my fourth years departed in a clamor of joyful speculation about the state of Rhys' arse.

One student hung back, fidgeting with ingredients at her table until her classmates had cleared out.

"Ms. Cattermole," I acknowledged, "What can I do for you?"

"Do you have a moment?" she asked, blinking nervously.

In fact, I was feeling quite a bit impatient to unravel the mystery of Harry's offhand comment about the seventh years, but I couldn't bring myself to say no to Ellie Cattermole. I was reasonably certain she was the only student in her class to have read more than the first two paragraphs of any assigned text since the beginning of term. "Of course," I replied, pushing a chair to the edge of her table and seating myself across from her.

She nodded, looking wholly uncomfortable – the students younger than sixth or seventh year were often tongue-tied with me, I found, though they bantered with Harry and routinely shared their heartaches with Neville. In all honestly, I was a bit jealous of the ease with which Harry and Neville seemed able to reenter the mystifying world of adolescence. It would never come naturally to me, perhaps because my own adolescence was a time I'd prefer to keep well behind me.

That being said, Ellie Cattermole had a funny sort of intensity that made me think she would have been equally uncomfortable meeting one-on-one with any of us.

"I read about you in the papers," she said quietly, looking up briefly to meet my eyes, "I think my parents wrote you a letter."

She was right; and though I couldn't recall exactly what it had said, it had been one of the pleasant ones. "Many students' parents did," I said reassuringly, unsure of the direction in which the conversation was heading.

"Will you tell me what it said?" she asked, suddenly. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. You probably can't tell me, right?"

"Well," I said, slowly, "Was there something you were concerned about?"

"Can I ask… I'm sorry - this is quite personal. You're gay, aren't you?"

This caught me off guard, and I felt my eyebrows shoot up involuntarily. Even more of a surprise was the naked vulnerability in Ellie's eyes. Tension seemed to radiate from her body.

I met her eyes carefully. "Yes, I am," I said.

She blinked rapidly. "Okay," she replied, "I think I am, too. My parents don't know," she added quickly. "Nobody knows."

I felt a swell of tenderness in my chest for Ellie, who seemed so self-contained but also a bit lost. It was bewildering and humbling that, out of everyone she might have chosen, she had entrusted me with her secret. This was probably what it was like to be Neville. Was there a sort of protocol for this? I didn't know how to respond, other than sincerely. "I'm honored that you're telling me," I said.

A flash of a smile broke across her face.

"Well. For what it's worth," I said, suddenly aware of how much this must mean to her, "Your parents' letter to me was very kind. They seem like lovely, broadminded people."

Her shoulders sunk with relief; she nodded calmly, but her eyes welled with tears. "Thanks, Professor," she murmured, standing up quickly and turning her face away.

"Anytime. You can always find me if you need someone to talk to," I said, and meant it. A smile lingered on her face as she waved goodbye and walked quickly out of the classroom.

* * *

"What took you so long?" greeted Harry, grinning up at me from the staff table.

"One of the fourth years had a question after class." I noticed immediately that Ellie was not yet in the Great Hall, and I wasn't surprised.

"Well," Harry said, brimming with quiet excitement. "Notice anything interesting?" He watched eagerly as I scanned the student tables, breaking into a smile as soon as he saw my eyes land on a cluster of N.E.W.T. students at the Hufflepuff table. When I realized what I was looking at, it was impossible to keep from smiling back.

The seventh years were looking uncharacteristically disheveled, their unbuttoned, open robes exposing a familiar shade of electric pink underneath.

"They're not shunning me," Harry remarked gleefully.

"They've gone against the dress code for you," I added, impressed. I nearly gasped, "Even Grant Eldwin has done it?"

"The Head Boy himself," Harry confirmed. "I guess they've reached that stage right before graduation where the rules are sort of irrelevant."

I grinned at him, unable to resist pointing out that Harry himself had reached that stage within the first month of our first year.

"Yeah, yeah," he acknowledged affably. "So," he added, "Did you notice the other bit?"

"Other bit?"

"Oi, Aiden," Harry called, intercepting Aiden Chapman as he walked past.

"Professor?" Aiden greeted, joining us willingly at the staff table. He drew back his robes and puffed out his chest so no part of "NOT SHUNNING HARRY POTTER" was obscured. There was something pinned to his shirt, I noticed, just below his collarbone. Aiden saw me looking and smiled, looking pleased with himself.

It appeared to be a sort of badge, knit from green and silver wool in the shape of the heart – a nod to my signature scarf, I realized, and a gesture of support. I was astonished and touched.

"Cheers, Aiden," Harry said, releasing him to the Gryffindor table to enjoy his usual routine of snogging Miranda Warbeck in full sight of peers and teachers. Harry looked up at me, beaming. "Not shunning Draco Malfoy either," he pointed out happily.

I surveyed the Great Hall, watching fondly as the students frantically thumbed through textbooks, filling in homework parchments for their afternoon classes. I supposed I might miss it here a bit next year after all, I realized. Lunch hour drew to a close, and we packed away a bit of lunch to deliver to Neville and poor Rhys in the hospital wing before afternoon classes began.

"Hiya, Professors," greeted a voice rich with cheerful mischief. We looked up to see one of our Gryffindor third years standing before us.

"How can I help you, Martin?" Harry asked.

Martin Gustafson glanced roguishly from side to side, before opening and shutting his robes like a flasher to reveal a pink tee-shirt underneath. With one last impish grin, he scampered back to his table, buttoning his robes up as he went.

"George better buy us dinner with all the money he made off of those shirts," Harry remarked happily.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Dear Draco,

I hope you won't find this too forward, but truly, I feel remiss in not reaching out to you sooner. It's quite easy, isn't it, to get caught up in fighting and animosity? So much time has been wasted, but I've always felt that it's never too late to start fresh.

I'm sure you know that Arthur and I look upon Harry as our own son, and his happiness means the world to us. That being said, I wanted to make sure you know that you are always welcome in this house. Anyone who makes Harry so happy is family (and, of course, Ginny and Hermione speak so highly of you). If Lily and James were alive, I know they would say the same.

We'd love to have you here for dinner on the weekend, if you're available!

With love,

Molly Weasley

P.S. Such a lovely picture of you two in the papers – we've cut it out and pinned it to the wall!

* * *

Author's note: Pink shirts for all of you!


	11. June

Hard to believe we are already up to June - Fleur was right about the time going fast! So many of you guys wanted those pink tee-shirts, so I'm leaving a mess of them in a box outside the door to Harry's flat. Sizes range from house elf to Hagrid.

You are all wonderful.

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_by Neverbird_

June

* * *

Harry could remember a time when rainy Friday afternoons had left him bored and restless, but Draco Malfoy had turned out to be the variable that changed everything. The school day had dragged along listlessly for the teachers, though the students were quite edgy and overwrought. Evidently the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams that were a distant concern in the end of May seemed a bit more real now that June was upon them.

Harry, Draco, and Neville, after waiting in vain for a break in the rain, finally accepted the inevitability of soggy robes and guided their broomsticks through the heavy gray air over the lake. They were thoroughly soaked by the time they arrived at the front gates to their flats. Neville gracefully turned down a polite invitation for tea in Draco's flat, and Harry tried not to appear thrilled to bid him goodbye in the courtyard. He adored Neville – but it had been a lonely evening on-call in separate Hogwarts chambers, followed by a tedious day of classes on opposite ends of a vast castle. Harry was longing for time alone with Draco behind the closed door of his flat. Even the short walk through the corridors was agony.

Minutes later, they were standing in Draco's entryway, grinning at each other as their robes and hair leaked pools of rainwater on the hardwood floors. "That's some rain," Harry remarked, charming his glasses dry.

"On the bright side," Draco pointed out, "Maybe it will keep the reporters away."

The unrelenting, near-obsessive coverage of Harry and Draco's relationship in all the papers had barely slowed, if at all – really, the only thing they could do was laugh about it. It was sketchily accurate at best; sometimes, Harry felt that the papers must have been talking about a different Harry entirely. For one thing, the general consensus seemed to be that he and Draco were shagging like rabbits.

To be honest, he sort of envied the Harry from the papers sometimes.

The issue of sex was terribly confusing. For all that they had seemed on the same page about things a few weeks ago, the topic hadn't come up again, and Harry had a tendency to get tongue-tied in crucial moments. It was always so hard to know what Draco was thinking.

"I suppose it isn't healthy to stand around in wet clothes," Draco remarked, after a pause.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Drying charm? Or should we just…"

"They're bound to come off anyway, don't you think?"

"Okay." Something twisted pleasurably beneath Harry's abdomen. He let his waterlogged Hogwarts robes slide into a heap on Draco's floor. Draco smiled sweetly and did the same. The air felt suddenly charged; he looked up at Draco, whose gray eyes were gleaming. Harry felt strangely compelled to laugh.

Without taking his eyes off Harry, Draco flicked his wand lazily to dry and fold their discarded robes, levitating them into a neat pile on top of a chair.

"Is your jumper wet, too?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Draco. He peeled it off, along with his undershirt.

"Mine, too," replied Harry, "And my shoes."

The pile of wet clothes on the floor grew, and Draco stepped closer, pressing the edges of his bare toes against Harry's. Their eyes were almost level. Harry watched, enthralled, as a drop of water slid off the end of Draco's soaked fringe and down his cheek like a tear. Draco pushed the lock of hair to the side with his fingertips. Even dripping wet, it was still so blond. Harry felt almost faint with longing. He looked down.

"Your trousers are wet as well," Harry said at last, his voice soft. Then, heart pounding, he reached slowly forward, taking Draco by his belt loops and tugging him closer. Draco inhaled sharply, almost a gasp, but he didn't resist. Harry looked up at him briefly – Draco's gray eyes were alight with stunned fascination. When he smiled tentatively, Draco smiled back.

In that moment, everything else slid out of focus: the dampness of his own trousers, the steady pounding of the rain outside, and the clean lines of Draco's tidy flat. Harry's fingers found the button of Draco's trousers and carefully unfastened them, pulling the zipper downward and sliding the trousers down Draco's hips. Draco sighed softly and his eyelashes fluttered. There was a soft pressure against Harry's pelvis, and before he could process any of it, his body responded in kind.

Then they were kissing, and it was quiet and urgent with hands in constant motion. Draco was so focused - the firm pressure of his lips and the startling heat of his tongue left Harry with the most pleasurable sort of ache. When they surfaced for air, Harry gently cupped Draco's cheek and met his eyes with nervous anticipation.

"We could," Harry whispered, finally.

"Now?" asked Draco

"Yes." Harry's voice was both breathless and emphatic. He smiled sheepishly at his own eagerness.

"You've never – have you ever done this before?"

"Never with a bloke," Harry said.

"Right." Draco trailed his hand down slowly to rest on Harry's hip.

Harry regarded him curiously. "You've done it before."

"Not often."

Harry felt suddenly shy. "Are you ready to - "

"Good God yes," said Draco.

* * *

I slept soundly and contentedly, and awoke to find Harry watching me lazily. The morning sun peeked through my curtains, and Harry's skin appeared lit from underneath against the pale of my sheets. Without his glasses, his eyes seemed brighter and more arresting than ever. I couldn't stop looking at him.

He smiled at me. "Good morning. And happy birthday."

"It is a happy birthday," I replied, smiling back.

"How are you feeling?" he blinked, nervously, scooting closer to me.

I looked up at him. "Not bad." I grinned.

Harry sighed happily and buried his face in the crook of my neck. "It was lovely, wasn't it?" he murmured.

"Yeah," I said softly, breathing in the scent of his hair. For a minute, neither of us moved.

"So," Harry said, finally, drawing up into a seated position and reaching for his glasses. "I have a birthday present for you."

"Last night wasn't it?"

"No, Draco," he grinned, rolling his eyes, "Last night wasn't it. Stay right here," he added, prodding me in the chest with his finger.

"Yes sir." I leaned back on my elbows and enjoyed the view as he slid out of bed and rooted around for his knickers. He tugged them on, smiling sheepishly, and disapparated, reappearing so quickly that he must have made only the briefest stop in his own flat. He carried a small armload of wrapped packages.

"That looks like more than one birthday present," I observed, sitting up eagerly.

"Yes, well counted," Harry replied, beaming. He leapt back into the bed, settling in cross-legged and passing me the largest of the three packages. I held it happily in my hands, bending it and shaking it gently.

"You should see yourself," he said, laughing, "I've never seen anyone so thrilled to get a present."

"I like getting presents," I remarked.

"Clearly you do. Spoilt brat." He leaned forward to kiss me briefly. "Open it!"

I drew the paper back carefully, revealing a soft scarf and matching gloves, striped with pale blue and dark gray.

"Oh," I said happily, "They're lovely."

"Okay, but open this one now. They go together." He handed me a second package, pliable and flat.

"What is it?" I murmured, unfolding what turned out to be a cotton shirt in the same shade of charcoal gray as my scarf and gloves. There was a still image of a Snitch in gold, and all around it, light blue letters spelled "Albus Dumbledore University Quidditch."

I laughed delightedly. "I haven't seen these yet. Where did you get this?"

"I have connections." He grinned. "Though I still can't believe you're leaving Hogwarts next year."

"What can I say? Not all of us love watching teenagers snog."

Harry's eyebrows arched indignantly. "I do _not_ love watching teenagers snog. I don't like watching anyone snog." He leaned over me, suddenly, his lips hovering half a centimeter above mine. "I do love snogging, though," he said quietly. My breath hitched.

He rolled off of me, grinning. "Do you want your other present?"

It was impossible to resist a wrapped gift. He placed the last and smallest box gently into my hands. It rattled quietly when I shook it.

I peeled off the paper to find a small wooden box with a hinged lid. "Keep going," Harry prompted. I nudged the lid open, and found two bands of delicate white gold, pressed so thin that they were as flexible as dragon hide.

"They're bands for your watch," Harry said excitedly, "They charm onto the center part."

I held one of the bands between my fingers, studying its engraved surface closely. "It's a hedgehog," I said softly.

"Your patronus." Harry smiled shyly.

"How did you know?" Only once had I been able to produce one at school, and I had been alone at the time. At least, I had thought I was alone.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it." I took his face between my hands and kissed him.

Harry charmed the bands to attach to the face of my watch, adjusting them to fit closely around my wrist. I loved this watch. My parents had always planned to give me my grandfather's watch on my seventeenth birthday, but when the day came, my father was in Azkaban, Dumbledore had been killed, and I was with Severus. When I was reunited with my parents at home shortly afterward, we were living under Voldemort's command, and my father never acknowledged my birthday at all. But on the day we received our pardon from Azkaban, my parents took me to Diagon Alley and let me pick out my own watch. I had always associated this watch with the relief of second chances.

To be lounging in bed, opening this gift from Harry Potter on the morning of my twenty-fourth birthday? That was another second chance I never thought I would get. I smiled down at my wrist, admiring the way it all went together.

"Oh!" I said, suddenly, "It's nearly ten-thirty."

"What time are they expecting us again?" Harry asked, biting his lip nervously.

"Not until eleven. But I expect they'd prefer us not to show up naked."

We were having birthday brunch at my parents' house in France. Harry hadn't seen them since the day of our hearing before the Wizengamot.

Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed, we apparated to their doorstep. "It's beautiful here," said Harry, peering into the courtyard. "I've not been to this part of France." His voice was quiet and formal, and his back was stiffly straight.

"Hey," I asked, squeezing the tips of his fingers briefly, "Are you okay?"

"What? Of course," he said, unconvincingly.

"I didn't realize my parents made you so nervous."

Harry glanced at me sideways. "To be fair, I've never woken up stark naked next to their only son and then come round to their house for brunch an hour later."

I burst out laughing.

"And then gone home afterwards and shagged him again," he added.

I beamed. "That's good news."

"It is your birthday," he reminded me, grinning.

We were both blushing when Litty the house-elf let us inside and escorted us to the dining room, where my parents were seated before the most extravagant brunch I had ever seen. It seemed that they, too, were anxious to impress.

"Mother, Father, you remember Harry Potter. My boyfriend." Harry's lips twitched upward and my father's lips twitched downward at precisely the same angle.

"Mr. Potter," my mother greeted, rising to shake his hand. "Welcome."

"Please – call me Harry," he said, voice jumping.

"Harry," she acknowledged. She turned to me. "Happy birthday, darling." She kissed me lightly on each cheek.

My father stood and acknowledged Harry with a stiff nod. "Would anyone care for raspberry ambrosia?" My parents had always thought pumpkin juice was a bit vulgar. "Litty!" he barked, his neck faintly splotchy. "The ambrosia."

"So, Draco tells me you've been seeing each other since April," my mother said.

My father looked as uncomfortable as I've ever seen him. "Excuse me," he murmured, standing suddenly. "Please eat. Litty, push in my chair."

"That's right, Mother," I replied calmly. Harry nodded awkwardly.

"That's lovely. And you're at Hogwarts now as well, I understand."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Please call me Narcissa."

Harry nodded, eyes wide. I had a feeling he would simply avoid calling her anything at all.

"And will you be moving on to teach at the university next year with Draco?"

"Erm, no," Harry replied, his voice dry. He cleared his throat. "I'll be staying on at Hogwarts."

"But we'll both be in Hogsmeade," I added.

"That's lucky, is it not?"

"Very," Harry replied, nodding so sincerely that my heart tugged.

* * *

After finishing with brunch and cake, my mother directed us to wait for her in the parlor, where my gifts had been arranged. "I'll go find your father."

I took Harry's hand as we entered the parlor, and he laced his fingers through mine absently. His eyes swept over the walls, where portraits of my ancestors peered at us with expressions ranging from curiosity to abject disapproval. It was an ornately decorated room, with heavy brocade curtains, stiff velvet couches, and a gleaming hardwood floor dressed with an expensive Persian rug. Per our tradition, my birthday gifts were stacked grandly in the center of the room - Harry giggled quietly at the size of the pile. "Spoilt prince," he teased, kissing my cheek gently.

He crossed the room to the built-in bookcase, where my mother had lined every surface with framed photographs of me dating back to infancy.

"Oh," he murmured happily, "I've found the shrine."

"Hard to miss it," I replied.

He leaned in to examine a prominently displayed photograph taken when I was four or five, in which I am scampering around the fountain outside the Manor chasing a peacock. "That's adorable." He turned to grin at me before turning to the next photograph on the bookcase. "Well, look at this hairless wonder," he remarked. I had been quite bald until well after my first birthday.

"Enjoying yourself?" I asked, wryly.

"Quite a bit, actually," he beamed. "You were a beautiful baby."

"I know."

"And a complete prat of a child, I'm sure."

"I was," I granted, frowning. "It took me some time to grow out of that."

Harry looked at me strangely. "Oh, I was just taking the piss."

"It's true, though."

"Well," Harry replied, "Maybe. But I was a prat, too, wasn't I?"

"Undeniably," I agreed, stepping closer and slipping my arm around his waist. He smiled and leaned into my touch.

"You look like a girl in this one," he murmured, after a moment.

"Hush."

"You really were beautiful. Are," he said.

I felt myself blushing. "Thanks."

"Oh," Harry remarked, suddenly, carefully bringing forward a small photograph that had been tucked in the back. "Look what your mum kept."

It was the picture of Harry and me at the Potions Society Gala, clipped from a newspaper and framed in silver. It left me speechless. It seemed that my mother and I would never stop surprising each other.

* * *

Hermione woke up slowly to the faint sound of birds chirping and stripes of sunlight breaking through her bedroom blinds. Ron snored softly beside her, shirtless and on his side, lips puffed with sleep and freckles stark against his pale skin. She stretched and leaned back against the pillows taking everything in. How was it possible for a morning to seem so normal and so surreal all at once?

She was nervous to look out the window. She hadn't expected to be the sort of bride who fretted about the weather, but a week of scorching heat, followed by a day of torrential rain had broken her composure.

But when she pulled up the blinds, it was perfect: pale blue skies with only a few spun sugar clouds.

Her days had been so rushed and frantic lately, between last-minute wedding details and incoming applications for the university. She couldn't remember the last time she had cooked an actual meal. She started a pot of coffee, and was inspired to fry up bacon and eggs to surprise Ron. Her mother, Molly, and the others weren't expected for another two hours. She turned on the radio and hummed along while the bacon sizzled.

Ron's ever-reliable sense of smell led him to the kitchen just as Hermione had finished arranging everything onto plates. He lingered in the doorway, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched her.

"What?" she said, smiling back at him.

"Just happy," he said.

They grinned at each other for a minute, and the only sound was a soft guitar melody coming from the radio.

"It's our wedding day," Hermione said, finally, almost incredulously.

"I know!" Ron was beaming.

Hours later, Ron had left to get ready at Harry's flat with his brothers, while Hermione and Ron's flat was a maelstrom of bobby pins and tulle. Hermione sat on a chair near the window, while Fleur brushed her eyelids and cheeks with softly colored powder and carefully outlined her eyes with a deep brown pencil. "Mama, I need makeup," Victoire demanded, and Hermione smiled. Victoire had been watching Hermione intently all day, and had been on the edge of a tantrum when she had discovered she would not be wearing a veil to match the bride.

Hermione's mum and Molly, already dressed in skirts and light jackets, were fussing over her, refreshing her water, snapping photographs, and endlessly encouraging her to eat. Ginny was attempting to style Susan's hair in loose waves; her own hair, which never held a curl, was neatly combed and adorned with a headband. Hermione's eighteen-year-old cousin Laura had wildly curly hair that she had attempted to tame into a sort of bun at the nape of her neck. Their dresses were all different cuts, in contrasting shades of blue. Hermione thought they looked perfect.

When Fleur had finished with her at last, Hermione sat on the edge of the bed in her wedding knickers, a button-up blouse, and pajama trousers. Everyone left the room except for her mother, who had removed Hermione's dress from its garment bag and was carefully unhooking each button one by one. Hermione brushed her fingers over its soft layers of tulle and sighed happily.

"Excited?" asked her mum.

She grinned up at her. "Yes." And she was.

Hermione's mother helped her step into her wedding dress, sliding the ruffled straps up over her shoulders and buttoning the dress closed in the back. When she had finished, she held Hermione's hands and took a step backward to look at her. Hermione saw her mother's wet, red eyes and almost started crying herself.

"Your shoes," her mother said, handing them to her. Hermione had insisted on wearing flats – she was determined to be comfortable, and she intended to dance all night. "Ready to see yourself?"

Hermione nodded quickly. There was a lump in her throat.

When she stepped in front of the mirror, Hermione's heart seemed to skip. Her cheeks were softly flushed, and her skin was luminous against the ivory of her dress. A few soft tendrils of hair framed her face; the rest had been pinned up into a loose knot. Her veil cascaded down to her fingertips, skimming her shoulders and seeming to blend with the tulle of her dress. Her eyes appeared enormous, fringed in long, thick lashes. She had never felt so old and so young in a single, dreamlike moment.

She was longing to see Ron.

They proceeded down the lift, toward the car that was waiting for them out front – a Muggle car, by appearance, but charmed on the inside to provide ample space in back for seven women and one very cranky flower girl. Hermione's head was spinning, centered only by the firm pressure of Ginny's fingers laced through her own. Their driver took them through the center of town, and Hogsmeade had never looked so colorful and alive. Tomorrow would be graduation, and the shops were teeming with the seventh years and their families who were in town for the occasion. There was a relaxed, joyful air about the day – N.E.W.T.s were over, and the relief was palpable. The presence of a Muggle car in town only seemed to add to the general excitement; along each street, shoppers stopped, stared, and pointed. Hermione's cousin Laura appeared utterly gobsmacked. Though she had told Laura the truth about Hogwarts a few years ago, Hermione understood that it was another thing entirely to see actual wizards flying casually past their car windows, waving from broomsticks.

The afternoon spun along in a merry blur. It seemed that no time had passed at all, but suddenly, Hermione was standing with her father at the end of the flower-lined aisle. Rows of friends and family rose to their feet and turned to face her. She felt acutely self-conscious, but shook the feeling away. This was the moment she had spent months envisioning. She wanted only to be centered and present.

She looked up and saw her wedding party arranged around an arch of peonies and hydrangeas. Her bridesmaids had preceded her down the aisle: her only cousin, her university roommate, and the woman she already considered a sister. Victoire, her good spirits restored, had struck a ballerina's pose for the photographer. Across the arch, Teddy stood, straight and solemn, alongside Harry, who was fidgeting nervously with the sleeve of his suit. Fanning outward from the center were Ron's four brothers – in their matching gray suits, topped with bright red hair, they looked almost like a row of candles.

A few inches of space had been preserved between George and Percy. Hermione's heart constricted. Fred's presence was almost palpable.

She paused, letting a hundred tiny details wash over her. The wool of her father's suit against her bare arm. The soft warmth of the midsummer sun. The long, stretching notes of a violin mingling with the rising wail of a baby's cry. A tendril of hair brushing against her cheek. Her wedding day.

Heart pounding wildly, she met Ron's eyes at last.

* * *

The early evening sun cast a hazy glow over the rows of guests. Harry stood in position at Ron's shoulder, but Hermione's was the face he could see most clearly. Her eyes were dewy as she held Ron's hands beneath the arch, and Harry had never seen her so happy. He could hardly believe Hermione and Ron were getting married. When had they all gotten this old?

His eyes were drawn again and again to Draco, who was seated a few rows from the front, between Neville and Fleur. Draco in a Muggle suit was a revelation - even baby Dominique, sitting on Fleur's lap, seemed captivated by him. Across the field, to their left, was a large white tent, decorated with flowers, lanterns, and fairy lights.

Ron's hands trembled as Teddy handed him Hermione's ring, and Harry worried vaguely that he might drop it. It ended up on Hermione's finger, thankfully, and Ron exhaled audibly. Soon, Ron's finger, too, was adorned with a simple platinum band. Teddy, his function fulfilled, leaned into Harry with relief, and everyone chuckled. Ron and Hermione kissed, drew back to grin at each other, and kissed again. Ginny caught Harry's eye from across the archway, and they exchanged smiles. The redheaded boy from King's Cross had finally married the bushy-haired girl from the train. Their eleven-year-old selves would have been quite astonished.

Then again, Harry thought wryly, he was the one falling for Draco Malfoy.

He peeked again at Draco, who was looking down reading his wedding program, his soft blond fringe falling over his face. He looked up suddenly and smiled, and Harry felt his own lips tug upward into a goofy grin. So that was how it was. Harry was stupidly, utterly smitten.

The ceremony ended, and Harry was called upon to pose for photographs with the rest of the wedding party. They moved afterward to the tent, where guests were sipping Muggle drinks and conversing beneath brightly colored Chinese lanterns. Draco's hair made him easy to spot – he and Neville had planted themselves at a table in the corner with small plates of hors d'oeuvres. It was sort of amazing how well Neville and Draco got on these days. Maybe the most powerful alchemy of all was simply the passage of time.

"But you won't know until you ask," Draco was urging.

Neville looked at him doubtfully. "You think so?"

"Just talk to her."

Harry hesitated, not wanting to interrupt.

"Maybe I will," Neville said finally, his expression resolute. He took a heavy breath and smiled nervously at Draco. "Though, maybe I should wait a few minutes?"

"Definitely not," Draco replied firmly.

Neville nodded and stood, tugging briefly at the collar of his shirt. "Here I go."

Not for the first time that day, Harry felt a pleasant lurch in his stomach at the sight of Draco in his suit.

"Hi," Harry said, sliding into Neville's recently vacated chair.

"Hey, you're back," said Draco, smiling, "Are they done with the pictures?"

"Hanged if I know," Harry blurted breathlessly. "Listen. I love you."

Draco blinked calmly, but Harry knew him well enough by now to understand that beneath his practiced composure he was stunned. In all honesty, Harry had stunned himself, too. All at once, out of nowhere, he had realized with startling clarity how fiercely he wanted this, all of it. He wanted the sleepy gray morning eyes and the sex and the awkward meals with Lucius and Narcissa, and he was pretty sure he wanted to see Draco change a nappy one day.

"You don't have to say it back," Harry assured him quickly. He couldn't read the expression in Draco's eyes. "Do you like the centerpieces? Ron's weirdly good at picking out flowers, right? Maybe he should - "

"Harry?" interrupted Draco. Harry pressed his lips together nervously. "I love you," Draco said softly.

Harry beamed.

* * *

Under the tent with twinkling lights, the air was alive with conversation and the infectious beat of Muggle hip-hop music. George and Teddy approached the wedding party table, where Ginny and Susan were sipping drinks and talking. "I don't know," Ginny was saying, and even in the dim lights, George could see his sister was blushing. "Honestly, I hadn't thought about it, but yeah."

"He's actually gotten quite fit," Susan remarked, grinning.

"Yeah," Ginny murmured shyly, "He has."

"Hello, ladies," George greeted, placing a small plate in front of Susan, while Teddy did the same for Ginny. "Your cake has arrived."

"Oh, that's really nice of you," Susan said.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at George, "What did you do to them?"

"Ginevra," George shook his head, "What are you implying?" He placed a firm hand on Teddy's shoulder. "Why would you think so lowly of Teddy?"

"Teddy, why are you so wet?" asked Ginny, ruffling his damp hair.

"It's sweat," he replied, grinning to reveal a missing tooth. "I've been killing them on the dance floor, right, George?"

"Killing it," George agreed. He chuckled as Ginny withdrew her hand, wiping Teddy's sweat discreetly onto the tablecloth. "Are you two having fun?"

"Yes, very much," Susan replied politely.

George muttered something to Teddy under his breath.

"What?" Teddy asked loudly.

Sighing, George bent down and whispered directly into Teddy's ear. "Got it?" he asked.

"Got it," Teddy replied, beaming. He squared his shoulders importantly. "Ginny, might I have this dance?" Gallantly, he extended his hand.

"Of course," Ginny agreed, glancing apologetically at Susan. Sweat and all, it was impossible to turn down Teddy Lupin. Teddy surprised her by placing a tentative hand on the small of her back, looking quickly back to receive a nod of approval from George.

"They make a lovely couple," George declared to Susan, watching them take their place on the dance floor. "Though, do you think he's a bit young for her?"

"Not at all," Susan replied drily.

George turned his chair toward her. "So, I brought you something to go with your cake."

"Did you?"

He reached into the lining of his suit jacket and, glancing quickly to make sure no Muggles were watching, he pulled a large covered mug out of a pocket that wasn't nearly big enough to accommodate it.

"Hot cocoa," he announced with flourish. "Your favorite, I understand."

"Well, yes," replied Susan, seeming a bit taken aback.

George grinned, thoroughly pleased with himself. "You can try it if you'd like!"

"Oh," she replied, apologetically, "It's just that it's June."

"Ah yes," George considered, running a hand through his hair. "Nothing to be done about that."

The corners of Susan's lips tugged upward. "Would you like to dance, George?"

George had jumped to his feet and taken her by the hand before she had finished the question.

* * *

As midnight approached, I found that I was perfectly content to be sitting next to Ginny Weasley, watching Harry dance wildly with Neville and Teddy beneath the lanterns and lights. Victoire had flung herself face-down in Ginny's lap in a fit of exhausted rage, and Ginny was stroking her silvery hair with one hand and sipping a glass of water with the other.

"I didn't find it different at all, really," Ginny was saying, "Better music, probably, and less chance of George creating some sort of spectacle. But I haven't been to all that many wizarding weddings either."

"Neither have I," I replied.

I watched as Teddy surprised Neville by diving toward the floor and scooting through the arch of his legs, while Harry doubled over laughing.

Ginny and I exchanged grins. "Teddy's moves are amazing," she said.

Victoire lifted her head up suddenly and glared fiercely at Ginny.

"And what is the matter with you, ma'am?" Ginny asked pleasantly.

"Nothing is!" Victoire scowled.

"Okay, then." Ginny glanced sideways at me and raised her eyebrows.

"Better now than during the ceremony," I murmured under my breath.

"Wish the same could be said for Molly," she countered wryly. Percy and Audrey's daughter had made something of a scene as Hermione had come down the aisle.

The music changed tracks, and the tempo slowed. I watched Hermione lean closer to Ron and tuck her chin over his shoulder, the train of her dress pinned up neatly behind her. Harry, Neville, and Teddy ambled back to us. Harry caught my eye and grinned self-consciously, running a hand through the utter chaos that was his hair.

"So, if we were to dance," he began, biting his lip as he stood before me, "How close do you think we could stand before someone used a shield charm against us?" His eyes twinkled.

"Lucky that this is a Muggle wedding," I remarked, taking his hand as I stood. "And lucky we're not students."

"Lucky we're us," Harry added.

And we were.

* * *

WEASLEY FAMILY POST

Dear Mrs. Weasley,

I will always treasure the memory of you wrangling Crookshanks for his injection while wearing a wedding dress. It's actually sort of ridiculous how much I love you.

Always,

Your husband

* * *

_-Five Years Earlier-_

There had been a constant rotation of parties in the dormitory common rooms since N.E.W.T.s had ended, fueled by wine and leaving a mess of awkward one-off romantic entanglements in their wake.

I hadn't been to a single one – though, if there was ever a cause for me to celebrate, here it was. There was no doubt that I had passed my exams easily. I had treated my academic program with exacting diligence this year. My future employability depended on my achieving impressive credentials to make up for my last name; it was the precise reason I had returned to Hogwarts in the first place. The commencement ceremony would occur in four hours, after which I would finally be free to untangle myself from the guilt and heartache I would probably always associate with this place.

I had anticipated feeling straightforward relief, but then there was also regret, and the regret had a name. I had found it difficult to sleep lately; I'd taken to wandering Hogwarts' maze of corridors and staircases by wandlight. This morning, I had ended up quite purposefully on the seventh floor, where a muffled noise halted me in my tracks.

I recognized the sound of Potter's footsteps before he stepped into my line of sight. He had already changed into his graduation robes, and had stopped to face the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He was oblivious to my presence; it was actually a bit disconcerting to know that someone so unobservant was about a week away from entering the auror force.

I announced myself by clearing my throat, and Potter spun around sharply, wand aloft. The light emanating from the wand's tip played against his spectacles, casting eerie shadows along his face.

"Malfoy," he sighed, obviously relieved. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same."

"I'm just…" Potter shook his head, exhaling audibly. "Sorry, you really startled me. I didn't think anyone else was awake. I certainly didn't think I'd find anyone up here."

"I couldn't sleep," I said, shrugging.

"Me neither," he confided, relaxing. "I actually haven't been back here since that night. Since last year. Have you?"

I had not, though I must have woken up a hundred times since with dreams of Fiendfyre vivid enough to make me sweat.

And then there were the other dreams, wonderful, confusing, and twice as disturbing. Twice as messy to deal with in the mornings. There was certainly something wrong with me. Vince had died in front of me, and I had been terrified beyond comprehension – and yet, my body couldn't help but respond to the memory of that broomstick ride. The warmth and solidity of Potter's body as I pressed tightly against him. The soft sweep of his hair against my forehead.

I glanced up at Potter and was startled to find that he was watching me strangely, his green eyes luminous.

"Do you think you'll miss it?" he asked softly, stepping closer.

I was speechless. My heart pounded uproariously.

"I will," he added, his voice forlorn.

I looked at him, sincerely bewildered. "What are you talking about?" _What will you miss? The unspoken heat between us? The gut-level awareness that we had always been somehow connected? That we always would be?_

"Hogwarts," he replied.

_Oh. _

"No," I said, plainly. We stood in silence for a moment, watching Barnabas the Barmy sleep in a troll's embrace.

"Can I ask you something?" Potter turned to me abruptly, voice jumping nervously.

"Of course." I looked at him.

"Why did you save us?"

I didn't reply.

"At the Manor, when we were captured. I know you recognized us, even though you said you didn't, and I never thanked you," he continued, shaking his head. "I let you thank me, but I never said it back." He took another step toward me.

_Straight_, I reminded myself. _Has a girlfriend. _But he was stepping closer still.

He looked up at me, and my heart tugged. His green eyes were so penetrating, and the line of his mouth was so determined. He was lovely. I wanted him so badly.

It took me a moment to realize he had extended his hand, and I felt myself smile as I shook it. It was the first time Harry Potter had ever touched me without fighting me or saving me.

His smile mirrored my own. "Seven years later."

"Almost eight," I corrected.

He laughed. "It's been very strange knowing you, Malfoy."

"Likewise, Potter." My heart thudded in my chest. Perhaps I would never see him again after today.

"Well," he said, shrugging, "I reckon it's - "

"Potter," I interrupted, and before I realized what I was doing, my hands had landed on his shoulders.

"Yes?" His eyes were wide and startled, but he made no move to pull away. Taking a deep breath, I leaned closer. He blinked behind his spectacles and licked his lips.

I paused – and in the space of a moment, I lost my nerve.

"Good luck," I said, withdrawing my hands. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Malfoy," he replied, his brows knitted in confusion. He lifted an arm, and for one wild moment I thought he might lean in to hug me.

He looked at me, smiled slightly, and shrugged. And then he walked away.

I watched his retreating form, feeling strangely content. It had looked like a goodbye and sounded like a goodbye. It hadn't felt like a goodbye.

That was the morning I discovered the form of my Patronus.

* * *

Author's Note: And since every story should have a ridiculously happy ending, stay tuned for the epilogue. I'm excited - but I'm going to miss you guys.


	12. July

I don't know what to say. I'm already sad that this is the end. I've said this before, but you guys are wonderful. Really. This was fun to write, but it's been even more fun as a conversation with you readers. And by "more fun," I mean indescribably awesome. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, and know that I truly value and appreciate the time you took to read this.

****Since I'm a sucker for a happy epilogue:

* * *

**The Art of Eventually**

_by Neverbird_

July

* * *

_Epilogue: Six Years Later_

On the morning of his thirtieth birthday, Harry was woken up gently by pale morning sunlight coming through his bedroom curtains. Stretching blearily, he tucked his hands behind his head and took a moment to stare fuzzily at the ceiling. The day never officially began until he put on his glasses.

He was alone in bed, though the sheets beside him were rumpled, and he heard soft chatter coming from the hallway. The door nudged open, and Draco's face appeared. "I thought I heard someone rustling about in there." Draco pushed the door open all the way, his arms loaded with ten kilos of bright-eyed baby. "Sleepy Daddy woke up," he murmured.

Harry smiled drowsily at his husband and son. "Thanks for taking him."

"My pleasure. You get a lie-in for your birthday, don't you think?"

"I love you," Harry sighed. In the nine months since Jamie was born, no commodity was so profoundly cherished as sleep. On the best of days, Harry felt constantly in need of a nap. On the worst days, the nap would descend without warning, once during lunch at Hogwarts, resulting in a face full of mashed potatoes. When all was said and done, Harry now understood quite clearly why, in the early days with Rosie, Ron kept leaving his wand in the refrigerator, and why Hermione had answered the door one memorable morning with her breast hanging out.

"I love you. And happy birthday. Thirtieth birthday." Draco grinned. "You're thirty."

Jamie burst into sudden laughter, kicking his legs in excitement.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" Harry sat up, reaching for his glasses at last. "Come here, you monster." Jamie squealed happily as Draco deposited him in Harry's arms. "Just so you know, your papa is _already_ thirty. He is ancient."

Draco sat cross-legged on the end of the bed, watching as Jamie made an immediate grab for Harry's spectacles. "Yes, I know you love these," Harry said, tugging them out of Jamie's hands. "These are Dad's glasses, not Jamie's glasses."

"Gahhhh," remarked Jamie, reaching for them again.

Harry kissed him on the forehead. "What are you wearing?" he murmured affectionately. Jamie was in soft gray trousers that felt like cashmere, an expensive looking white collared shirt, and a small bowtie. At any given time, it was always completely obvious which of Jamie's dads had dressed him.

"So, I can take him again if you want to get dressed," Draco offered, yawning.

Harry smiled up at him. "Sounds like there's a reason I shouldn't go down in my pajamas."

"I haven't a clue what you mean," replied Draco.

"Hmph," Harry replied, eyeing him suspiciously. Draco widened his eyes, all innocence.

"Okay," Harry said, finally, kissing Jamie again on the head. "You're going back to Papa."

Draco scooped him up and balanced him easily against his hip as he stood. James Black Potter-Malfoy was still almost entirely bald, save for a few wispy blond wings in the back. He had inherited Harry and Lily's famous green eyes, though Harry was sure they were bigger and greener than his own. Everyone who met Jamie seemed almost taken aback by them.

Harry grinned up at them. He loved this little family.

"We'll see you downstairs?" Draco asked, bouncing Jamie slightly and making him giggle.

Harry smiled. "I'll be down soon."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed, Harry padded down the stairs, a self-conscious smile already tugging at his lips. He was almost certain that he would find his living room overtaken by friends and family – there had been something in the tone of Draco's voice, though it was always hard to tell with him.

"Oh, hi," Draco greeted, smiling up at him. He was on the sofa with Jamie in his lap, carefully balancing a mug of coffee while Jamie turned the pages of a cardboard storybook.

So, perhaps there wasn't a surprise party this morning. Harry shrugged it off. Relaxing with Draco and Jamie sounded lovely as well.

"Coffee still on?"

"Yup, in the kitchen."

Harry ruffled Draco's hair as he passed behind the sofa, ambling toward the kitchen. Draco had put a mug out for him, which he filled to the brim and sipped gratefully. Coffee had been his salvation in the months since Jamie was born. He leaned against the counter as the caffeine slowly revived him.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a pair of arms had grabbed him around the legs. "Hi, Uncle Harry!" piped Rosie Weasley's high, familiar voice. Luckily, he had the wits to set his mug down on the counter before sloshing it all about in a startled convulsion.

The cupboard had burst open, and before Harry could register what was happening, the kitchen was suddenly alive with people and noises and the scent of fresh homemade cakes. "Happy birthday happy birthday happy birthday Uncle Harry!" shrieked Louis, Bill and Fleur's youngest, who was presently tugging on the back of Harry's trousers.

"'Arry!" boomed Hagrid, "How are yeh? Where's the littl'un? Walking yet?"

"Not yet," Harry laughed, "Thank Merlin."

"And how old is 'e now?"

"Nine months today, actually." Strangely, Jamie had been born on Halloween, which meant that Harry had become a parent on the same date he had lost his own parents so many years ago.

"Nine months?" Hagrid shook his head disbelievingly, chuckling under his breath. "Merlin, time flies. And these two, expecting another grandchild, aren't yeh, in November?"

Molly and Arthur had arrived, bearing an armload of gifts.

"Happy birthday, dear." Molly kissed his cheek and tousled his hair as though he were eleven. "Now, I wasn't sure what flavor of cake you and Neville would want, so I brought an assortment." She flicked her wand, and a parade of cakes floated past them toward the dining room.

"Maybe raise them bit higher in the air, will you, Mum, before the twins get them?" George requested, intercepting a chocolate buttercream confection in the nick of time.

"Oh dear," Molly murmured, promptly obliging.

George's twins were eighteen months old, and were undoubtedly his punishment for everything he had put his parents through. Harry was convinced there was no item on earth that hadn't been put in one of their mouths at one point or another; presently, they were reaching desperately for the cake in their father's hands.

"Okay, I'm handing you this," George declared, passing the cake off to Harry. "Happy birthday, by the by. And you, madam, are coming with me." He scooped up his red-haired daughter, who giggled mischievously. "Hon, I've got Amelia," he called over his shoulder. "Can you catch Freddy?"

"I'm on it," Susan declared, jogging after her son.

Harry looked around dazedly, still processing all that had just transpired. Setting the cake down on the counter, he reached for his coffee mug and was gratified to find that it was still warm. He snuck a generous sip before Rosie ran toward him, pulling her dad by the hand.

"Where's Baby Jamie?" she asked urgently.

Ron smiled wryly at Harry. "She's obsessed." Ever since Hermione had gotten pregnant, Rosie's mind had been singularly focused on babies.

"Uncle Draco has him," Harry said, leaning down to lift her into his arms. "Shall we see where they've gone?" Rosie tucked her chin over Harry's shoulder and grinned at her dad.

"Don't disappear, though. Hermione's around here somewhere, and she's got a present for you."

Harry carried Rosie into the living room, where Draco was chatting with Percy's wife.

"Once or twice a night, still," he heard Draco say.

"They're all so different," replied Audrey. "With Molly, it took almost a year. Just a minute, darling." Molly was tugging frantically on the hem of her mother's shirt. "But Lucy started sleeping ten hours straight at eight weeks. Yes, dear?"

"When is Aunt Ginny coming?" Molly chirped excitedly. Ginny was a favorite among all of her nieces and nephews, but she and seven-year-old Molly were quite inseparable. Molly had nearly combusted with joy when Ginny had asked her to be the flower girl in her wedding.

"I think that's her at the door," Draco remarked. Molly gasped and leapt across the room to greet her, and Audrey excused herself to follow.

"Hi," said Harry, and he and Draco exchanged smiles. He loved the way Draco's eyes crinkled around the edges these days.

"So, happy birthday," Draco murmured, his faint dimple briefly appearing.

"You arranged all of this?"

"I collaborated with Ginny. I gather Neville is being surprised at the door as we speak."

Harry grinned, glancing at the doorway to catch Neville's bright red face. "The pair of you are so sneaky."

"I'm a Slytherin," Draco explained, shrugging. "No idea what her excuse is."

"I love you," said Harry.

"Uncle Harry!" interjected Rosie, cupping her hands around his cheeks in a sudden bid for his attention. "Where's baby Jamie?" she whispered.

"Ah, that's a good question, Rosie." He turned to Draco. "Where might I find our son?"

Draco tickled Rosie's foot. "He is with his grandmother and his Great Aunt Andromeda, and I believe they are in the dining room."

"Uncle Draco!" Rosie giggled, wiggling her legs. She leaned into Harry, whispering in his ear. "May I come down, please." Rosie was very polite for a three-year-old.

Harry set her down and watched her set off determinedly for the dining room, her mother in miniature.

"So, your mother's here. Did Lucius come?"

Draco laughed softly. "Ah, no. Too many redheads this time. But he sent along a gift."

"For me?" Harry asked, surprised.

"One for you and three for Jamie. For his nine-month birthday." Draco rolled his eyes affectionately.

"Of course." Harry chuckled. To say that Lucius and Narcissa spoiled their only grandchild didn't begin to cover it.

"Should we say hello to the other guest of honor?" Draco suggested. They crossed the room to the entryway, where Ginny and Neville had been waylaid by Molly and her little sister Lucy. Draco and Ginny grinned at each other and looked thoroughly chuffed at the success of their party.

Neville shrugged, smiling at Harry. "How is it being thirty?" he inquired.

Harry laughed. "You tell me. You're the one with an extra day's experience."

"So far so good for me," Neville obliged.

"We're on our third cake day in a row," Ginny confided happily. "Sampled wedding cakes on Friday, had our own cake for Neville yesterday, and now my mum's brought about a dozen more for today."

"Is everything coming together?" Harry asked. "Only two months to go."

"Just under six weeks," Ginny replied calmly. "But, yeah, we're getting there."

"I can't wait for your wedding," remarked Harry, "Because something tells me I'm going to pull the best man."

"That may be," countered Ginny, "But something tells me _I'm_ going to pull the groom."

Draco and Neville exchanged wry glances.

"Oi, Harry!" called a familiar voice from across the room. "Harry, I've got a - oops – crap. Ouch." Teddy had somehow managed to stub his toe on the floor.

"You'd better rescue him," Draco murmured, taking Harry's hand and squeezing it briefly. "I love you," he added under his breath. Harry beamed.

"Harry, will you tell Niquie that she doesn't have to be in Gryffindor just because Victoire is?"

"But Victoire said - "

"Victoire is full of rubbish," Teddy insisted. "Right, Harry?"

Harry confirmed that Victoire was full of rubbish, and Dominique lit up like Christmas.

"Then I'll be in Hufflepuff with you, Teddy!" Dominique had blatantly fancied Teddy for years, though at thirteen, he was scandalously old for her and entirely oblivious.

A loud, bleating cry rose above the party chatter. "Oh," Harry said, "Sounds like someone's hungry." He excused himself and followed the sound to the kitchen, where Narcissa was mixing a bottle with her wand. Jamie squealed and reached out his hands for Harry, who scooped him into his arms happily. Draco appeared moments later, drawn in by the sound. He was carrying two glasses of champagne. "We were about to do a toast," he explained, "But it sounds like bad timing."

"Actually, it's perfect timing," Harry replied. He leaned against the kitchen counter and accepted a glass of champagne in his free hand, smiling up at Draco. Narcissa quietly excused herself, and by some miracle of timing, they were alone in the kitchen.

"To your thirtieth birthday," Draco declared, raising his glass.

"To us being old," Harry replied, grinning as they clinked their glasses against Jamie's bottle.

Jamie, of course, discarded his bottle in favor of grabbing for the champagne glasses, which Draco promptly levitated out of his reach.

"Better luck next year, Jamie," Harry teased, giving his son a wet kiss on the cheek. "Actually, better luck never." With one dad teaching at Hogwarts and the other teaching at the university, Jamie would be drinking butterbeer and not snogging anyone for at least twenty years. That was Harry's plan, anyway.

Draco leaned gracefully against the counter, smiling at his family. "I don't believe in never," he said.

* * *

Author's Note:

I think some of you suspected I was going there. :-) Okay. So, I have this whole mess of details in my head about these characters that never made it into the epilogue. I'll list some of them below, in case you are curious (I always am after I finish reading something). Seriously, if there is anything else you were wondering about, just ask - chances are, I have an answer for you.

Now I have to figure out what to do with all this extra space in my head, don't I?

_The Art of Eventually: Bonus Material_

- Harry and Draco married three years before the epilogue in what was meant to be a small, intimate ceremony (until the guest list sort of spiraled). Miraculously, they were able to keep the location hidden from the papers, so the only photographer present was the one they hired themselves. The youngest guest in attendance was Rosie Weasley, who slept and nursed through the entire event.

-Harry and Draco weren't sure what to expect when seeking a surrogate to carry their first baby, but they were stunned to find witches from all over the world clamoring to endure round ligament pain on Harry Potter's behalf. They deliberately chose someone they didn't know socially (though several old schoolmates and former students had offered), though they consider her a dear family friend now. She carried all three of their children.

-Teddy is having an extremely difficult time remembering to refer to Harry as Professor Potter during DADA class.

-The kids' table at Weasley family events is enormous. In order by age (and including the honorary Weasleys): Teddy Lupin - 13, Victoire Weasley - 11, Dominique Weasley - 8, Molly Weasley - 7, Louis Weasley - 6, Lucy Weasley - 5, Rosie Weasley - 3, Amelia Weasley - 18 months, Fred Weasley - 18 months, Jamie Potter-Malfoy - 9 months, Hugo Weasley - born 3.5 months after epilogue, Lily Potter-Malfoy -born 2 years after epilogue, Oliver Longbottom - born 2 years after epilogue, Sebastian (Sev) Potter-Malfoy - born 4 years after epilogue, Emily Longbottom - born 5 years after epilogue. Charlie remains a well-traveled bachelor. When Molly asked George when he and Susan were planning to have more children, he laughed to the point of hiccuping.

-Draco enjoyed working with several of his favorite students again, especially now that they had matured enough that their classroom priorities placed learning over snogging.

- Gabrielle Delacour began attending Albus Dumbledore University, and became a fixture at family dinners. Consequently, thirteen-year-old Teddy Lupin fell hopelessly in love with her.

-Alas, he was barking up the wrong tree. During her second year at university, she introduced the family to her girlfriend, Ellie Cattermole.


End file.
